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SANTA CLAUS’ 
SWEETHEART 








Page 93. 


“ Will ye tell me good-by now, swateheart V ” 





SANTA CLAUS 
SWEETHEART 


IMOGEN CIARK 

ILLUSTRATED 


NEW YORK 

E. P. DUTTON 6 COMPANY 

31 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 


TC*' 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Conies Received 

AUG 24 1906 


aright Entry 

JLASS7 CL XXc. No. 

/ vT^V y <? 

' COPY B. ' 



Copyright, 190(>, 

E. P. Dutton & Co. 

Published September, 1906. 



THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. 



TO 

1 

E. A. M. M. 









C O N TE N T S 


Chapter Page 

I. Enter Santa Claus ... 3 

II. The Ride Together ... 30 

III. Exit Santa Claus .... 66 

IV. Christmas Eve at Thornby’S 97 

V. The Peace of God . . . 130 


VI. Christmas Day 


165 


f 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“ Will ye tell me good-by now, swate- 

heart ? ” (p. 93) . . . Frontispiece 

She stood waiting, listening to the 

bells Facing page 96 




SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 









SANTA CLAUS’ 
SWEETHEART 


CHAPTER I 


ENTER SANTA CLAUf 


T ERRY O’CONNOR al- 
ways declared he was born 
under a happy star, and he 
also maintained that at the time of 
his coming into the world it had 
danced for very joy. This state- 
ment, which no matter how much 
others might doubt but could not 
dispute, he had direct from his 
mother’s mother, who was present 
on that most auspicious occasion, 
and had observed the unusual con- 
[ » ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

duct of the stellar body from the 
window. And, moreover, as if to 
establish quite conclusively the con- 
nection between the shining merri- 
ment in the skies and the advent 
of the little child on earth, the first 
thing the baby did was to smile. 
Old Mrs. Mulcahey knew what she 
was talking of. She had seen 
many new-born children in her 
time, and all of them, with the 
exception of her small and only 
grandchild, had worn such doleful 
countenances that a less hopeful 
person than herself would have 
been cast into despair. Whether 
that dazzling, dancing star had 
blinded her eyes, or had given them 
a truer vision, who shall say? She 
had seen — what she had seen ! A 
little joyful slip of humanity come 
valiantly into this world of trouble, 

[ 4 ] 


ENTER SANTA CLAUS 

equipped from the outset with the 
sign-royal of a light heart. 

It was the humblest of cradles; 
but to it, as to all cradles — so runs 
the old belief — had trooped, un- 
seen, the good fairies with their 
gifts, and hither also had come the 
wicked fairy, who is seldom absent 
at such times, and whose malig- 
nant generosity mars all the gra- 
cious giving, making possession 
only too often of doubtful value. 
Here, as elsewhere, she wreaked 
her evil will so that the little child 
grew to be a man known through 
the countryside as a good-for- 
naught. That was the extent of 
her work, however ; she was power- 
less to prevent another testimony. 
He was also known as a kindly, 
happy-go-lucky fellow, his own 
worst enemy, but the friend of all 
[ 5 ] 


santa claus’ sweetheart 

the world. Such was the record of 
five-and-sixty years, and such it 
would be to the end. 

Terry dragged his squirrel cap 
closely down about his ears, and 
pulled the collar of his fur coat 
up to meet it, shutting out the 
shouts that rose from the group of 
idlers gathered around the roaring 
fire in Wistar’s tavern. Not even 
Ulysses, on that memorable voyage 
of his past the sirens, ever strove 
so vigorously to dull his hearing as 
did this little commonplace man, 
who was generally in thrall to his 
own pleasures. In spite of the 
laughter which reached him in 
faint bursts, he strode resolutely 
to the door and let himself out into 
the still, white world. For a mo- 
ment his will, nerved as it sel- 
dom was, faltered; back of him, 
[ 6 ] 


ENTER SANTA CLAUS 

through the open door, he could 
see the gleaming eye of the fire 
winking and blinking in friendly 
wise; the grinning human faces 
turned his way, jovial as they were, 
were less alluring, though he knew 
what comfort lay in their mirth, 
and what additional comfort would 
be passed from lip to lip as the 
hours went by. He was not unfa- 
miliar with such scenes, but the 
knowledge that the morrow would 
be Christmas and his rude sleigh 
contained what would go to the 
needs, and also to the meagre 
pleasuring of the shantymen at 
Thornby’s logging-camp, as well 
as another and still more potent 
thought, lent an unusual firmness 
to his step. He was not sure of 
himself even then, however, though 
he cleared the distance with a 

m 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

bound which landed him in the 
centre of his waiting sleigh, and 
shook out the reins with a wild 
halloo that startled the placid old 
horses and made them whirl for- 
ward on the frozen road with the 
friskiness of youth. The noise of 
the hurried departure brought the 
men within the tavern running 
to the open door, to stand there 
bare-headed, gaping at the dimin- 
ishing speck which they knew — 
and did not know. A man of de- 
termination, surely, and hitherto 
their acquaintance had been with 
one who never could say “ no,” or 
a quarter of a “ no,” on any occa- 
sion — the real Terry O’Connor. 

Meanwhile, as the sorry-looking 
nags sobered down to their every- 
day gait, the man back of them 
knew which was the real self. His 

[ 8 3 


ENTER SANTA CLAUS 

own conduct, despite the fact that 
he held its key, had surprised him 
even more than it had his com- 
panions ; and as his thoughts 
turned longingly to the spot he 
had just quitted, he let his grasp 
slacken on the reins. It was better 
that the horses should take their 
own way for a while; he could not 
quite trust himself. Presently, 
however, when no backward glance 
revealed the tavern, and all around 
the country lay wrapped in the 
white silence of winter, he gath- 
ered the lines more firmly between 
his fingers and called a jovial word 
of encouragement. His voice rang 
out loud and far-reaching, — the 
only sound to break the stillness 
save the monotonous sing-song of 
the sleigh bells that struck a vi- 
brant note on the clear air, and the 
[ 9 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 


sharp crunching of the hardened 
snow under the passing hoofs. 
Another man in Terry’s place, do- 
ing his duty against his inclination, 
would have performed the task 
stolidly if there were no one by to 
applaud his action and recognize 
what a fine fellow he was. With 
Terry it was different. Once 
starting out to do a thing he car- 
ried his own lightness of heart into 
the matter, which was probably the 
result of being born under a happy 
star. 

There were other reasons in this 
instance, besides the performance 
of his duty, to make Terry happy. 
He had never heard that duty done 
is the soul’s fireside; indeed, had 
he been consulted on the subject 
he would have frankly cast his vote 
for Wistar’s fireside with the hot 
[ 10] 


ENTER SANTA CLAUS 

toddy going around at blessed in- 
tervals rather than for any warmth 
that might come from his soul be- 
cause of his own well-doing. He 
knew little of his soul, and cared 
less ; that was something, according 
to him, to be reserved for the time 
when illness, or old age, should 
overtake him. At present, with his 
lusty health and his gay heart that 
was bubbling over with youth de- 
spite his years, he disregarded the 
acquaintance entirely. He had 
turned his face resolutely toward 
the north and to the north he would 
go, though first the provisions 
would be duly left at the camp; 
but he had no intention of remain- 
ing there himself. A glass of grog 
— another — they could scarcely 
off er him less than two ! — and he 
would be away again. Like a 

[ 11 1 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

beacon, out of the distance, beckon- 
ing to him was the jollity up at 
Merle. It was there he meant to 
keep the Christmas Eve vigil and, 
moreover, win the bet Narcisse 
Velin had made. For Narcisse, 
smarting under what he termed “ a 
slight to hees honor-r,” had de- 
clared that Terry would never be 
able to leave Wistar’s tavern and 
the jolly crowd assembled there, 
and the shantymen would be 
obliged to do without their Christ- 
mas cheer because they had chosen 
so unworthy a bearer instead of 
a more capable man — he would 
mention no names! — and then 
with an evil laugh he had made a 
heavy wager that his words would 
come true. 

Terry shivered momentarily un- 
der his furs, though he was so well 
[ 12 ] 


ENTER SANTA CLAUS 


wrapped up that the cold was 
powerless to reach him. How 
nearly had Narcisse been right, 
how nearly had he — Terry O’Con- 
nor — been the loser. The grog 
was so good at Wistar’s, and Bap- 
tiste, the most famous story-teller 
of them all, had just come in with 
a new and wonderful adventure at 
his tongue’s end, and the glow of 
the fire was like a gentle hand 
soothing one into forgetfulness. 
Then suddenly he had remembered 
the packed sleigh without with 
Danny and Whitefoot waiting pa- 
tiently, though mournfully shak- 
ing their bells from time to time 
to remind him of themselves, of his 
duty, and, more than all, of Nar- 
cisse. The latter thought was the 
real spur to goad him out of the 
ease into which he had fallen. So 
[ 13 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

he had left the tavern, and the sur- 
prise his action had caused filled 
him with great glee. 

“ They ’ll niver be t’rough talkin’ 
av it,” he chuckled aloud, “ niver ! 
They ’ll say whin they tell their 
shtories ’twas the year, ye mind, 
whin Terry, the little jool av a man, 
wudn’t stay along wid us though 
we besached most beguilin’, an’ the 
grog was that edifyin’ ’t was its 
own monymint. He wint out 

into the piercin’ cold did that 
brave little felly ” — Terry’s chest 
swelled with pardonable pride — 
“ because he ’d passed his say-so. 
He ’s a square sowl is the lad, 
though there do be some avil- 
minded folks as give out that he 
an’ his promises don’t walk on the 
same side av the way — now the 
howly saints fergive thim!” He 
[ 


ENTER SANTA CLAUS 

flapped the reins on the horses’ 
backs. 

“ Hi, there, me byes!” he 
shouted. “ ’T is a fine supper ye ’ll 
be havin’, an’ Narcisse Velin will 
be afther payin’ the score. Kape 
a-goin’, me beauties. The moon 
will be up whin we go into Merle, 
an’ ye ’ll be dhroppin’ wid f atague ; 
but aisy! now — aisy! — there won’t 
be anny work to-morry, childer — 
oh, jist ye w r ait an’ see! They’ll 
be afther thinkin’ we ain’t cornin’, 
an’ Narcisse will say in his Frenchy 
way: ‘ Bieng! didn’t I tol’ ye so? 
The bet is mine, an’ little Terry ’ll 
have to pay up ; ye can’t put 
no daypindince in a man av his 
build iver — ’ An’ whilst the avil 
wurrds are dhroppin’ from his 
mouth I ’ll walk in on thim all as 
inconsequenshul-like as if I was 
[ 15 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

goin’ to a fair. That ’s the toime 
the laugh will be wid me, an’ Nar- 
cisse will want to slink aff to some 
remoted place. Oh, there does be 
no sinse at all to make wagers 
onlesst ye be sure av winnin’ — 
thin ye can make thim big — ” 
The thought so pleased him that 
he laughed boisterously, and flicked 
the horses with the whip, much as 
a man would nudge his neighbor 
with a friendly elbow at some witti- 
cism; then, his merriment abating 
a trifle, he began to sing. 

Suddenly he broke off in his 
song, and his fingers closed tightly 
over the slack reins; the horses felt 
the authoritative touch and came 
to an instant standstill. Before 
them lay the road which here led 
across the open country, though 
farther on it wound through the 
[ 16] 


ENTER SANTA CLAUS 

woods and over the low hills. Back 
of them, three good miles by now, 
was the little settlement with Wis- 
tar’s tavern (which had given the 
place its name) as a nucleus, while 
to the left stretched the plain 
empty of all sign of life; and to 
the right there was the same level 
whiteness, broken only by a soli- 
tary house which fronted the road 
at some distance away and seemed 
like a belated straggler, held cap- 
tive by the relentless bonds of 
winter, as it peered longingly in 
the direction of the small town 
from whose companionship it was 
forever set apart. There was an 
air of forlornness about it, sur- 
rounded as it was by all that glitter 
of ice and glint of frost, though 
the chimney smoke curling slowly 
up through the sharp air told of a 
2 [ 17 ] 


Santa claus’ sweetheart 

certain homely cheer within. It 
was off the beaten track, however, 
and despite the fact that Terry 
had halted he made no attempt to 
give evidence of his presence by 
so much as a shout. Out of the 
earth, almost beside him, there had 
unexpectedly risen a small figure, 
and he now found himself staring 
into a child’s eager face. 

“Are you Santa Claus?” she 
demanded with bated breath. 

He looked back at her, taking 
in, even in his dull fashion, the 
delight that widened her eyes and 
shrilled her voice. Suppose he told 
the truth — what then? How the 
disappointment would cloud the 
upturned radiant face at the com- 
monplace statement that he was 
only Terry O’Connor. He hesi- 
tated an inappreciable moment; 

[ 18 ] 


ENTER SANTA CLAUS 

then, because he had been born 
under a dancing star and loved a 
jest, he answered her question. 

The child’s laugh rang out on 
the air in happy triumph, waking 
the echoes. The horses stirred a 
little and their dull old bells gave 
forth a low sound, but it was n’t 
music compared to that which 
filled Terry’s ears. He took up 
the reins reluctantly. She pressed 
nearer, putting out a small, resolute 
hand as if she were one of those 
old-time, fierce-browed highway- 
men and meant to stop his further 
progress. 

“ Ah, please don’t,” she pro- 
tested, in a tone no knight of the 
road w r ould ever have employed, 
“ please — ” Then with a little 
rush, as if the words were eager to 
escape : “ I was so sure it was truly 
[ 19 ] 


santa claus’ sweetheart 

you, so sure. I saw you when you 
were way off — just a teeny, 
weeny speck — and first I thought 
maybe it was Pierre, or p’r’aps the 
doctor, or Mr. Higgins, and I 
came down here ’cause they always 
say 4 How are you?’ as they pass — 
they ’re such noticing big men ! I 
could n’t see very clear, you know, 
with the sun shining one way and 
the snow sending back baby 
sparkles the other; but everything 
seemed so happy, and when I 
heard you singing, I knew why — 
even your bells sounded glad — 
glad! I just could hardly wait. 
I ’ve thought so much about you 
always — I knew you ’d come 
some day. Where — where are 
you going now, sir? ” 

44 Home,” answered Terry, hon- 
estly enough. 


[ 20 ] 


ENTER SANTA CLAUS 

She cast a quick glance at the 
north along the road he must travel, 
and which, to her fancy, led hence- 
forth to an enchanted world; then 
her eyes sought his face again. 

“Oh!” she cried breathlessly, 
“ must you go quite — quite yet? ” 

At the possibility of his depar- 
ture, the joy that had been written 
all over her confident little person 
seemed suddenly to take wing, 
leaving her dejected and forlorn. 
The pleasure had been so brief, — 
a mere flash of brightness that was 
over almost as soon as it had come. 

Terry hesitated; every moment 
he lingered imperilled the fulfil- 
ment of his wager, for his horses 
were old, and their best was apt to 
be very slow indeed. He could not 
afford to loiter. “Before twelve 
av the clock, Christmas Eve,” Nar- 
[ 21 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

cisse had taunted him. But the 
little child ! It seemed almost a sin 
to cheat her of this happiness. He 
must go, yet everything about 
her — drooping lips and saddened 
eyes — bade him stay. Then, filled 
with a desire to please her and, at 
the same time, not interfere with 
his own plans, he bent down. 

“ Come along wid me,” he sug- 
gested jocosely. 

He had not been prepared for 
the effect his words would have on 
her; the joy in her face was keen 
as a dagger’s point, and seeing it 
he would not temporize. 

“ Come wid me,” he urged. 

She hesitated in her turn, and 
cast a backward glance at the silent 
house whose tin roof flashed almost 
like an admonishing eye in the sun. 
Duty was a word of even less pro- 
[ 22 ] 


ENTER SANTA CLAUS 

portions in her vocabulary than in 
Terry’s, though she knew its exist- 
ence; knew, too, young as she was, 
the wide gulf that lies between 
right and wrong doing. Yet here 
was no question of wrong, cer- 
tainly. The possibility of the 
passing of such an Important Per- 
sonage had never occurred to her 
elders, and they, who loved to see 
her happy, would never refuse to 
let her go with him ; it was n’t nec- 
essary to ask — she could n’t wait. 
The house was so lonely! Her 
uncle was away at his work, and 
her mother sat sad and quiet, sew- 
ing the livelong day; there were 
no children’s voices in the empty 
rooms, no rollicking, romping feet 
in the hall or on the stairs. Just 
silence, save for the little sounds 
she herself made as she played with 

[ 23 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

her dolls, or, tired of them, watched 
the big, desolate world from the 
window. That was the picture the 
house held for her. This, — she 
looked again at the little red- 
cheeked, blue-eyed man smiling at 
her from under his big fur cap, 
his white beard framing his jovial 
face — why, he had just stepped 
from her story book; hundreds of 
times he had met her glance in this 
same friendly fashion from the 
printed page; just so had he 
looked at her in those long day- 
dreams, gleamed at her so in the 
twilight from the leaping fire, 
haunted her slumbers at night. 
Even the sound of his voice was 
familiar, though she had never 
thought to hear him say : “ Come 
with me, come with me.” 

The road, stretching away to the 
[ 24 ] 


ENTER SANTA CLAUS 

north, gleamed like silver under 
the dazzling sky, twinkling and 
beckoning to her as with a 
thousand hands, and innumerable 
voices, too fine to be heard by or- 
dinary ears, echoed the invitation. 
The voices of the sleeping plains 
waking at the thought of the hap- 
piness in store for her, the voices 
of the snow-covered trees where 
the little leaves danced in the sum- 
mer time, and all the spirits of the 
birds that had once darted in and 
out among them and had nested 
there sang now in a mighty chorus : 
“ Come, come, come.” 

Oh, that happy, happy road. 
Never a child of all the multitude 
of children on earth who had loved 
him, dreamed about him, and 
longed to see him had been so 
fortunate as she. It was impos- 
[ 25 ] 


SANTA CLAUS* SWEETHEART 

sible to hesitate a moment longer, 
especially when the pursed up lips 
might so quickly slip from the 
magic word into a chirrup to the 
horses, and in consequence sleigh 
and occupant would vanish into 
thin air. 

“Do you really mean it?” she 
asked tremulously. “Do you really 
mean it? ” For though she was 
deafened by the noisy voices, his 
had been the first to speak. “Will 
you take me, truly? ” 

For answer he threw back the 
robes, and as she sprang to his 
side he gave a great laugh and 
drew her closer to him; then he 
dragged an extra rug from the 
bottom of the sleigh and folded it 
about her. 

“ Santa Claus’ swateheart 
mustn’t ketch the p-noo-moany,” 
[26] 


ENTER SANTA CLAUS 

he cried. “ Divil a bit ay it ! What 
do I percaive — is it missin’ a mit- 
ten ye are? Sure that ’s distress- 
ful, fer we can’t hunt it up now 
wid toime racin’ by like a mill- 
shtrame — ” 

“I’m unpartikilar, truly. I 
don’t mind the leastest bit — ” 

“ Well, mine wud be too shmall 
fer the likes av ye annyway, an’ 
I nade thim mesilf. So tuck your 
hands dost under, me darlint, an’ 
ye won’t be afther falin’ the cold. 
Now thin, is it ready ye are? ” 

“ Yes, oh, yes.” 

“ Hi, there, Danny! Hi, there, 
Whitefut! ” he shouted. “Buckle 
to, me byes ; the luck av the wurrld 
is foldin’ her arrms about me at 
this toime, an’ no mishtake. Git 
a move on ye, childer.” 

The horses obeyed his voice with 
[ 27 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

alacrity, as if they were eager to 
get their work over; the bells 
jingled, the snow beneath the run- 
ners gave out a sharp hissing 
sound by way of answer, and the 
little sweetheart, only her face 
showing out of the old brown rug 
as she nestled close against the 
man’s arm, laughed merrily. 

Before them the happy road, its 
joyous voices still calling to her, 
went on and on into the very 
rim of the sky; behind them the 
white earth stretched. They did n’t 
glance back — why should they? 
There was not much to see, — 
nothing but the empty plain and 
the lonely little house that seemed 
to shiver there all by itself; the 
silent little house where no child 
played, or looked from any of its 
windows. It seemed to have no 
[28 ] 


ENTER SANTA CLAUS 

love for the outer world, and no 
interest in it; yet zigzagging from 
its door were the prints of certain 
steps — too big for a fairy, too 
tiny for a man, — a strange huddle 
of marks ever forming new paths, 
and finally coming to an end at the 
side of the road. 

And the road led north, and 
the road led south, but nowhere 
was there any trace of a small 
maid faring forth on a mission 
of discovery. One would never 
have dreamed of her passing that 
way, had it not been for those ad- 
venturous footprints and for the 
little red mitten that showed upon 
the snow like a hand flung out in 
a silent good-by. 


CHAPTER II 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

the shtar danced whin I 
was born — ” 



jL JL “ That was because 
you were Santa Claus,” laughed 
the little maid. 

“ Faith, ’t was because I was 
mesilf — jest a slip av a babe that 
wud have gladdened your eyes to 
see. ’T was a happy shtar, an’ it 
came geekin’ in at the windy, — 
‘ An’ how are ye, me broth av a 
b’y?’ it seemed to say; an’ I, not 
knowin’ the spache av the wurrld, 
jest shmiled back for an answer. 
A shmile, or a laugh, is the best 
spache afther all, an’ don’t ye 


[ 30 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

fergit it. Why, even the brute 
dorgs know the differ betwixt 
glum looks an’ cheerful ones. An’ 
the shtar was n’t to be bate by a 
dorg, not it! Iv’ry blessed wurrd 
that lay in me heart an’ cud n’t 
git to me tongue’s end — the way 
bein’ thin unknown — was clear to 
it, an’ twinkle, twinkle, hop, skip, 
jump it wint, a-twangin’ its little 
fiddle in chune to its steps. Me 
mither’s mither — may the peace 
av hivin be her sowl’s rist! — near 
dhropped me aff her knees wid 
amazemint, fer niver had she be- 
held such divarshions; an’ by rea- 
son av the same she ran the pins 
into me body, mishtakin’ it fer a 
cushion, but niver a whoop did I 
let forth, bein’ all took up mesilf 
wid the joy av the shtar. Sure, she 
cud have made a clove apple av me 
[31 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

intoirely an’ I wud n’t have been 
none the wiser. She rectified her 
mishtake did she, an’ if she ’d been 
in doubts that all the saylestial 
fandarago was in me honor, she 
saw the truth av it thin. 4 Ma- 
vourneen,’ she sez to me mither, 
4 there ’s a little happy shtar widout 
in the hivins doin’ a quick-shtep, 
an’ up an’ down the middle, an’ 
ballings to corners all because av 
this new-born babe who ’s laughin’ 
wid the humor av it — ’ 4 An’ why 
not? ’ sez me mither, wid a certain 
fierceness in the soft voice av 
her. 4 Why shud n’t the whole fir- 
mymint be set into a commotion 
av gladness because av him? 
Faith, if ye cud pennythrate to 
me heart,’ sez she, 4 ye ’d see it 
dancin’ as niver was. Bring him 
here to me arrms, alanna, that I 

[ 32 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

may cuddle him dost, so ’s he can 
fale the bate av it.’ Thin the ould 
woman did as she was bid, an’ me 
mither — now the saints bless her 
swate sowl! — held me till her side 
an’ talked to me low, whilst the joy 
av her heart crept insid’yus like 
into me own, an’ it ’s lived there 
iver since.” 

“ What did she say? Did she 
call you Santa Claus?” 

“ Faith, she did n’t — not thin, 
nor aftherwards. She called me 
Cuslila ma-chree, — which manes 
Pulse av me Heart, — an’ Jool, an’ 
Precious, an’ Light av me Eyes — ” 
“ But those are my own names, 
truly, all but the first one, and 
Heart’s Content, and — ” 

“Ah, the mithers — bless thim! 
There does be but one langwidge 
they spake the wurrld over. Don’t 

3 [ 33 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

I know the truth av it? An’ the 
haythins as well, that haven’t a 
wurrd av English to their names 
— God pity thim, though he made 
thim an’ gave thim their gibberish, 
too — they say the same thing in 
their outlandish tongue, an’ the 
little haythins undershtand as well 
as you an’ me. Heart’s Contint, 
an’ Wurrld’s Blessin’ an’ — ” 

“ ‘ Dear my little own,’ — only 
muwer made that up speshilly for 
me; she told me so — ” 

“ Did she, now? Begorr a, the fa- 
miliarity av it sounds like music in 
me ears. I remimber me own 
mither whisperin’ something akin 
to it wanst whin I snuggled dost 
to her. Whist ! ’t is out av their 
falin’s fer us that they do be get- 
tin’ the wurrds afther all, an’ 
that ’s betther than learnin’ thim 
[ 34 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

from the books. Whin ye come 
to think av it, it ain’t to be 
wondered at that there ’s a sort 
av fam’ly raysimblince betwixt 
thim, seem’ as their hearts are av 
the same complexion. Oh, there 
ain’t annything annyw’eres like a 
mither’s love.” 

For just a little minute the eyes 
blazing with fun took on a misty 
twinkle, and something like a 
shadow crossed the old man’s face, 
making it seem strangely grave; 
but it was gone as quickly as it had 
come, and he was his merry self 
once more. 

“ It must have been a most ’nor- 
mous long while ago when you 
were a baby,” the child said, in- 
specting him shyly. 

“ It was, me darlint; it was the 
beginnin’ av toime — fer me.” 

[ 35 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

“ Somehow I never thought of 
you as a baby at all,” she went 
on, plainly distressed. “ Oh, what 
ever did the little children do then 
for Santa Claus? There was never 
any other, was there?” 

“Niver a wan, Swate Eyes. I’m 
the original, simon-pure Santa 
Claus, an’ no mishtake. Troth, 
they had to get on the best they 
cud widout me; an’ a sorry toime 
they had av it, wan an’ all. Thin 
I came, an’ the wurrld was a dif- 
ferent place iver afther — so me 
mither towld me.” 

The child breathed a sigh of 
relief. 

“ I ’m so glad I got born when 
I did. I shouldn’t have liked to 
be horned before you came. I ’m 
half -past six, you know. Who 
filled your stocking?” she de- 
[ 36 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 


manded the next moment, as the 
new idea occurred to her. 

“ Divil a wan I had to hang up 
whin I was a spalpeen ; ’t was bare- 
futted an’ bare-legged I wint.” 

“ But Christmas,” — the little 
maid’s lip trembled, — “ what did 
you do at Christmas? ” 

“ ’T was like anny plain, ordi- 
nary iv’ry day to me, agra, an’ no 
differ; except that wanst in jest 
so often me mither hid a plum in 
the bit cake she was afther makin’ 
fer me, an’ I ’d the joy av searchin’ 
it out mesilf, same as ye ’d seek 
out a naydle in a hayrick. An’ 
toimes it was fat, an’ toimes ag’in 
’t was like the shadder av itsilf ; 
but glory be! I niver missed it. 
An’ ’t was so good, fat or lane, that 
I used to drame I ’d give iv’ry 
child in the wurrld a cake all 
[ S7] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

shtuffed wid plums whin I growed 
up — ” 

“ That was what put it into your 
head to be Santa Claus.” 

The man cast a sidelong glance 
at his companion’s eager face. 

“ S’pose so,” he muttered. 

“ But the star knew all along, 
and that ’s why it danced and 
could n’t keep still.” She stole her 
hand into the curve of his arm, and 
gave it a soft little squeeze. “ Tell 
me ’bout that first time,” she 
coaxed. 

“ What first toime? ” 

“ When you went Santa Claus- 
ing. Were you very long growing 
up?” 

“ ’T was a terrible long spell 
from the b’y’s ind, an’ a terrible 
short wan from the man’s, — all 
av which you ’ll undershtand whin 

[ 38 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

your hair is me own color. But 
’t was over an’ done wid sooner or 
late, an’ there I was a man grown, 
though the heart av me has always 
been like a child’s because av the 
shtar — ” 

“ And ’cause you belong to us.” 

“ ’T is a Solymon King av Sheba 
ye are, alanna. Well, I wint about 
me work, an’ I toiled up an’ down 
the wurrld ; but the goin’ was 
joyful like, ’count av the fun 
I left in me wake, an’ iv’rywheres 
folks seemed powerful glad to 
see me.” 

“ I tried to keep awake last 
Christmas Eve,” she broke in 
shrilly, “ after muvver hanged up 
my stocking, but the sandman 
would come. I ’d been awake so 
long that when he crept in in his 
long gray cloak and with his bag 
[ 39 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

on his back, I thought it was truly 
you, and my heart went thumpety 
thump. But he shook out the 
sand — sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle. 
4 To-night of all nights you must 
sleep,’ he said; and I cried 4 No,’ 
and closed my eyes quick, so ’s the 
sand couldn’t get in; and when 
I opened them the next minute it 
was quite morning — not yellow 
morning, you know, but just the 
baby light that comes first. Then 
very soft, so ’s not to ’sturb muvver, 
I crawled out of bed, ’cause it 
made me incontented to lie still, 
and there was my stocking, full to 
the brim. I knew who ’d filled 
it — ” She stopped in her recital to 
smile at him and to pat his arm 
again. 44 Then I climbed up on a 
chair to take it down, and muvver 
laughed out loud. 4 Come back to 
[ 40 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

bed, dear my little own,’ she said; 
4 bring the stocking, and cuddle 
down warm and snug in blanket 
land.’ So I did; and she kissed 
me and I kissed her, and we both 
said 4 Merry Christmas ’ to each 
uver. She went fast asleep again, 
but cert’inly you couldn’t expect 
a little girl could sleep. I felt all 
my presents ; muwer says us little 
folks have eyes in our finger tips; 
and every minute the light grew 
brighter, and then — I really saw ! 
Dear, dear Santa Claus, how could 
you ’member just what I wanted? ” 
She rubbed her dimpling cheek 
ecstatically against the old sleeve. 
44 But you did n’t put anything in 
muvver’s stocking,” she added 
softly. 

He could not meet her reproach- 
ful glance. 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

“ ’T was in a hurry I was,” 
he mumbled, “ an’ me bastes 
shtampin’ widout in the cowld — ” 
“ Oh, she did n’t know,” the 
child interrupted, “ ’cause when 
she was tight asleep I found her 
stocking, and I put that very 
rosy-cheeked apple you ’d put in 
mine quite far, far down in hers, 
and some nuts, too. Cert’inly I 
could n’t give her the little doll or 
the picture book, ’cause grown-ups 
don’t care for such things, really; 
but things to eat are different. 
You don’t mind, do you? ” 

He did not answer. For the 
moment it almost seemed as if he 
had not heard. His head was 
turned quite away. 

“And she was s’prised — oh! 
you can’t think — and glad, too; 
so glad her eyes got all shiny and 
[ 42 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

bright. But you can’t guess what 
happened next. She said, ‘ Bless 
my Santa Claus.’ Wasn’t that 
funny? And then she kissed me 
most ’s if she ’spected.” 

Danny and Whitefoot felt a 
sudden queer twitch on the reins — 
a compelling touch that made them 
both swerve out of the direction 
they were taking. It was almost 
as if their driver meant them to 
turn around. Much earlier in 
the day, when they first left Wis- 
tar’s, for instance, such a com- 
mand would not have appeared 
singular ; but coming at a time 
when the tavern lay so far behind 
as to be forgotten, when the world 
seemed a blanket of drift and 
down and glistening silver, with 
no house in sight, the action was 
at least puzzling to their equine 
[ 43 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

minds. They stopped instantly, 
however, the noise of their bells 
hushed into silence. Whitefoot 
turned a wondering face upon his 
master, and almost immediately 
Danny looked protestingly around. 
The man met their gaze half 
guiltily. Beyond — oh, very far 
beyond — lay Merle, with its 
Christmas fun, — Merle, where he 
must be that night, or his name 
would be the jibe of the country- 
side; and back of them — a good 
twelve miles, perhaps fifteen, they 
had jogged on at such a steady 
pace — was that solitary house. 
If he turned round it must b.e 
good-by to Merle; it would be im- 
possible for Danny and Whitefoot 
to make the journey again without 
rest. He shifted the reins from 
one hand to the other. 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

“ Why are we stopping? ” asked 
the child. 

He looked at her in some per- 
plexity, then his brow cleared. 

“To give the bastes their feed; 
they ’re perishin’ wid hunger, so 
they are, the saints fergive me,” he 
answered, in a relieved tone, glad 
to postpone his decision for a time. 

He threw back the robes as he 
spoke, and sprang out on the 
ground. Where they had stopped 
the narrow, lane-like road widened 
for a considerable space into a 
plain again and a well, not far dis- 
tant from the track, now furnished 
water for the team, after which 
a bag at the back of the sleigh 
poured forth grain into the pails; 
and when these were set before the 
horses they fell to work as if 
Terry’s words were in danger of 
[ 45 ] 


SANTA CLAUS* SWEETHEART 

coming true. The child watched 
the proceedings with wide eyes. 

“ They ’re only just very woolly 
horses, after all,” she said, with a 
tinge of disappointment in her 
voice, “ in the books they ’re rein- 
deer.” 

“ Sure, the reindeers is at home 
savin’ up forninst this night. I 
cud n’t be dhrivin’ thim in the 
broad daylight, alanna dear; folks 
wud think us a thravellin’ circus 
widout the elefunt. Begorra, ’t is 
shtarvin’ I am mesilf, an’ I ’ll take 
my Alfred-Davy ye ’re in the same 
boat. We ’ll be afther havin’ a 
snack oursilves an’ a dhrop av 
somethin’ warmin’. Tumble back 
into the sleigh, mavourneen, an’ 
wrap yoursilf up dost till I 
shpread the tablecloth ag’inst the 
bankquid.” 

[ 46 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 


The tablecloth, as was speedily- 
disclosed, was nothing more than 
a very greasy newspaper, which 
was wrapped around a huge pile 
of sandwiches, each with a rim of 
bacon showing darkly between its 
thick slices of bread, a hunk of 
cheese, and some fat crackers; but 
the finest damask under other cir- 
cumstances would not have seemed 
half so beautiful in her eyes. And 
she had no quarrel with the coarse 
fare. Hunger, after all, is the best 
sauce for appetite that can be 
served with any meal, and it is 
more apt to come in with the plain 
dishes than with the elaborate ones, 
as Santa Claus and his little sweet- 
heart proved. 

“ Faith, I cud ate a nail wid 
relish if nothin’ else was handy,” 
he laughed, as he made his first 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

onslaught on the sandwich he was 
holding, and lessened it by a 
third, “ but this is a dish to set 
before a king, so tinder an’ tasty 
as it is. Take a rale thry at it, me 
darlint; ye do be nibblin’ sech 
little grand lady bites ye ’ll niver 
be t’rough. ’T is wan sandwidge 
I ’ve put away already, an’ ye but 
embarkin’ on the top roof av yours. 
Here ’s the second to kape ye com- 
p’ny, Brown Eyes.” He took an 
enormous mouthful, and smiled 
at her, while he was rendered 
speechless, and she smiled back, 
mute, too, from a similar reason. 

“Did ye iver taste betther?” 
he made out to ask. 

“Never,” she answered promptly ; 
and she really spoke the truth. 
Sawdust eaten in such companion- 
ship would have seemed as palat- 
[ 48 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

able as sugar, and the present food 
was like the ambrosia of the high 
gods. Even those delicious sand- 
wiches that her mother made for 
her sometimes, with the little slice 
of ham blushing faintly between 
the dainty pieces of bread where 
the butter lay like a filmy, glisten- 
ing veil, had never seemed so 
good and satisfying as these big 
grown-up ones eaten under the 
high blue sky in that country of 
snow and ice. 

As soon as the sandwiches had 
disappeared Santa Claus covered 
a cracker with bits of cheese like 
nuggets of gold, and presented it 
to her with a bow as if she were a 
queen. It seemed a fitting crown 
to the feast, though apparently he 
had quite other ideas of a crown, 
as was soon shown. When the 
4 [4 9 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

crackers and cheese were all eaten, 
and even the last crumb chased 
home and captured, he put his 
hand into the breast of his coat and 
drew out a flat, dark bottle which 
he regarded with loving eyes. 

“ Here ’s me beauty,” he cried; 
“ here ’s what ’s to top aff a faste 
a king wud n’t disdain ; here ’s 
something he wud n’t give the 
go-by to, not he ! ” 

“ What is it? ” the little maid 
asked curiously. 

“What is it? Troth, ’t wud 
take an hour by the clock to tell all 
the names it has the wurrld over; 
an’ some is good, an’ some is 
bad — the names, I ’m manin’. 
Merry-go-down an’ Tangle-legs, — 
that’s shlander’us! an’ Water av 
Health, an’ Odivvy, as the Frenchies 
say, which is the same as Water av 
[ 50 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

Life; but I ’m not so much fer 
water in it mesilf, likin’ it nate. 
Then there ’s Oil av Gladness an’ — 
Sure ye shall have the first taste, 
mavourneen, as ’t is fit an’ proper 
— ladies always lead. Come, 
shtand up an’ give us the toast — ” 

“ The toast — ” she looked 
around bewildered; “why, we’ve 
eaten all the bread, and there is n’t 
any fire — ” 

“ This is the fire an’ the bread 
too,” roared Santa Claus. “ Bless 
your innercent sowl, me dear, ’t is 
a propysition I ’m afther askin’ 
ye fer. Whist now, the fellies at 
the tavern sit ’round, an’ before 
they drink wan will git up an’ say, 
a-wavin’ av his glass, ‘ Here ’s to 
him ’ — namin’ some wan prisint ; 
or 4 Here ’s to honist hearts an’ 
true; ’ or ‘ Here ’s to thim at home, 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

God love thim!’ an’ we all drink 
to it. So now thin, Swate Eyes, 
spake quickly, an’ drink long, an’ 
pass the bottle spadily if ye love 
me, fer iv’ry minnit ’s an hour till 
it quinches me thirst.” 

She got to her feet quite gravely, 
her eyebrows drawn together in 
the little pucker they always made 
when she was thinking very hard; 
and first she looked up at the sky, 
and then around at the stretch of 
land where the sparkles under the 
crusted snow flashed like so many 
imprisoned diamonds, and then at 
the sky again as if for inspiration. 
Finally her glance rested upon 
him, leaning forward, regarding 
her with his merry smile. 

“ Why, here ’s to you,” she cried, 
“ our very own, ownest Santa 
Claus.” 


[ 52 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

She tipped the bottle against 
her lips as she finished speaking, 
gurgled a little, choked, splut- 
tered — 

“ Saints above ! child, howld 
your hand stiddy,” Terry shouted. 
“ ’T is your hood-shtrings an’ your 
coat as is gettin’ all that precious 
elixir, an’ iv’ry dhrop av it a jool.” 

“ Oh, take it away very quick,” 
she gasped. “ I ’m sorry to spill 
it, but it ’s most dreffly horrid.” 

“ Aisy, me darlint, aisy ! There ’s 
no accountin’ fer tastes, as the ould 
woman said when she kissed her 
cow. It ’s a quare wurrld this is ; 
but sure, ’tis a most glorious dis- 
pinsation av Providince that we 
don’t all be thinkin’ alike. See! I ’ll 
have to take your share as well as 
me own. An’ first, here ’s me hand 
on me heart to your toast, an’ the 
[ 53 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

honor av it ; ’t is proud I am at this 
minnit, an’ next, here ’s to ye — 
shtandin’ — here ’s to the best thing 
a man can have in this wurrld, — 
the love av a little child.” 

She stood up facing him, and 
bowed as he had done. 

“ Here ’s me hand on me heart 
to your toast,” she echoed, “ an’ 
the honor of it, ’t is proud I am at 
this minute.” 

Then she climbed back on the 
seat and watched him with round 
eyes as he tilted his head very far 
back and took a deep draught. If 
his attack on the sandwiches had 
astonished her, this new conduct 
awakened all her wonder. As he 
took the bottle from his lips he 
uttered a sigh which immediately 
slipped into a loud guffaw at sight 
of her expression. 

[ *4 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

“ You can’t like it,” she shud- 
dered. 

“ I ’m not quarrellin’ wid the 
taste,” he answered, “ an’ anny- 
way, ’t is by the docthor’s orders I 
do be takin’ a dhrop av the cray- 
ther, to kape the cold out an’ the 
warm in. A nip once in jest so 
often, the wise ould man sez, an’ 
don’t improve on the occasions, 
mind ye ! But sure, there ’s a toast 
I have n’t yet given, an’ that ’s to 
our next merry meetin’, an’ may 
it come sooner than ’t is expected.” 

He neither looked nor bowed 
her way; indeed, the words were 
addressed to his familiar spirits, 
and his eyes were fixed solely upon 
what he held in his hand. After a 
moment he put the bottle back in 
his breast, and buttoned his coat 
securely across. 

[ 55 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

“ An 5 now to juty, swateheart, 55 
he cried, springing out of the 
sleigh, “ the ray past is over, an 5 
the horses have gorged thimsilves 
like magistrates, the rapaycious 
gossoons ! Come, be shpry, an 5 
lind a hand wid the pails. 55 

She did not wait to be told twice, 
but bustled around delightedly, 
helping him stow the buckets 
among the dingy bags and barrels 
which formed the prosaic load this 
Santa Claus carried. 

“ Jest food forninst to-morry 
fer the shantymen, 55 he explained, 
as she prodded the bulging sacks 
with inquisitive fingers. “ They 
axed me to fetch along their Christ- 
mas dinner. Oh, they knowed 
their man. An 5 I, that obligin’, 
cud n’t say no till thim. If 1 5 d 
hardened me heart like Phareyo 
[ 56 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

we wud n’t be knowin’ aitch other 
this blessed minnit; so ’t is glad 
I am that I ’m mild as a mid- 
summer night by nature an’ dish- 
position. Let ’s limber up a bit 
afore we shtart ag’in on our thrav- 
els; ’t is shtiff I am in the fate av 
me. All hands down the middle, 
sashy to corners. Gintlemin, take 
your pardners — gintlemin twirl 
your gurrls ! Ladies change ! ” 

He roared out the calls, as he 
had so often done in the different 
taverns when he sat with his fiddle 
beneath his chin and played such 
enlivening strains that nobody 
who heard them could keep still. 
This time, however, he was going 
to cut pigeon-wings himself, and 
do wonderful double-shuffles; and 
he needed both hands to swing his 
little thistledown of a partner, so 
[ 57 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

the old fiddle lay undisturbed in 
the bottom of the sleigh, while he 
whistled and sang the tunes with 
great gusto. 

It was a scene unlike any he 
had ever known. Instead of the 
long, low rooms with the candles, 
set a-row in bottles, spluttering 
through the haze of dust and giv- 
ing out, besides their meagre light, 
a smell of dripping tallow, where 
the air was noisy with the scraping 
and pounding of many feet, and 
shouts and laughter rose on every 
side, was this wide, beautiful place 
with its pure white carpet and 
the roof of blue far, far above. 
Its remote walls were hung with 
white, where the low hills climbed 
skyward. And nearer, where the 
woods began, tall snow-crowned 
trees stood, their branches shin- 
[ 58 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

ing with frost. Clumps of bushes, 
with here and there a stunted iso- 
lated tree, dressed in the same glit- 
tering garments, took on fantastic 
shapes as if they were spectators; 
nor were they the only ones, — the 
furtive little people of the forest 
in feathers and fur peeped out 
from their shelter to watch with all 
their eyes, and then to murmur 
under their breaths : “ How mad 
these mortals be ! ” 

Terry stood at one side of the 
road some distance beyond the 
sleigh, and opposite him, her face 
aglow with excitement, her eyes 
like twin stars, the child waited. 
As he bowed with a great flourish, 
bringing his old cap to rest over his 
heart, she swept him a curtsey so 
low that her skirts stood stiffly out 
on the ground, — “a cheese ” she 
[ 59 ] 


santa claus’ sweetheart 

would have called it ; then the next 
instant she sprang to her feet 
again and poised on tip-toe, watch- 
ing eagerly for his signal. 

“Now,” he called, “now, thin, 
darlint, ready.” 

She raised her right hand high 
in air, as if to meet the one he ex- 
tended toward her, and skimmed 
across the shimmering floor close, 
close to him; their fingers met, 
clasped, parted — and she was in 
his place and he in hers. Then 
dipping, bowing, swaying, they 
advanced, retreated, advanced 
again; passed each other, now dis- 
daining hands, each twisting and 
turning alone as if the other did 
not exist; then repentant, meet- 
ing, joining forces, and with hands 
crossed, setting off together — oh ! 
happy word — in swift sliding steps 
[ 60 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

that scarcely touched the ground, 
so light they seemed; and up the 
road and down the road they went, 
laughing, shouting, singing. It 
was the maddest, merriest dance! 
The snow whirled up from their 
flying feet in soft clouds, and lo! 
each tiniest particle was a fairy; 
the air was full of graceful 
bending shapes fluttering here and 
there, there and here, until at last, 
quite tired out, they dropped to 
earth again to twinkle and sparkle, 
chattering softly to one another of 
the fun they had had. Only an 
old man and a small child light of 
heart and heels dancing out there 
in the wide country, do you say? 
Oh, no! oh, no! Santa Claus and 
his little sweetheart ; and, as if 
that were not happiness enough, 
there were the others besides, — 
[61 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

the snow fairies (and no dancers 
are like them anywhere), and the 
spirits of the plains sending back 
the gay music and laughter, and 
the spirits that dwell in the woods 
in their soft shadowy robes wind- 
ing between the trees in a stately 
measure, and the spirits of the 
wind laughing softly among the 
snow-laden, ice-gemmed branches, 
and the spirit of the high blue sky 
smiling down on everything. 

Hitherto the little maid had 
only danced by herself, or with 
her shadow, or her dolls, — those 
rather unsatisfactory partners whose 
limp legs went every which way; 
but she was happy at all times 
because she kept the fairy, Con- 
tent, in her breast. Now joy came 
to her in larger fashion. She 
waved her hand to sparkling earth 
[ 62 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

and smiling sky as she darted up 
and down like some belated butter- 
fly caught tenderly up into the 
heart of winter, a bit of glowing 
color. She saw the dancers in the 
clearing, — young eyes are sharp 
eyes, surely! — and I think she 
caught glimpses, too, of the shy 
woodland creatures peering out 
in open-mouthed amazement; she 
blew a kiss toward them, any- 
way. Tired? Not a bit. Tired? 
She could dance forever. Faster, 
faster, faster, like the little red top 
at home she spun, and then slower, 
slow-er, and more slowly. The 
little top always did that just be- 
fore it hummed off to sleep. 
Faster again, slow — Two strong 
arms caught her and flung her up 
quite high toward the sky; how 
blue it was! Then — how blue 
[ 63 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

Santa Claus’ eyes were, and how 
they twinkled, giving back the pic- 
ture of herself! She laughed into 
them gayly, and his deep merri- 
ment echoed her flute-like notes. 
Swiftly he carried her to the 
sleigh, wrapped her close in the 
thick rug again, then sprang to 
his place, and gathered up the 
reins. 

“ Och, ’t is the most thriminjious 
shtepper-out ye are,” he cried. 
“ ’T was the iligantest shport in 
the wurrld, bar none. Go on, me 

b’ys” 

Jingle, jangle went the bells; 
sober music surely, after what had 
gone before. It was like the little 
tune when the dance is done and 
the lights are burning low that, no 
matter how jolly it may be, still 
sounds sad, because in and out of 
[ 64 ] 


THE RIDE TOGETHER 

its lilt run the words : “ Good-by, 
pleasure, good-by.” 

Jingle, jangle clashed the bells 
as Danny and Whitefoot settled 
very gravely to their work. On 
and on they went, through the 
woods and over the barren 
stretches, but always toward the 
north. There was no thought of 
turning back. 


5 


[ 65 ] 


CHAPTER III 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 

T HE air bit more keenly, for 
the afternoon was wearing 
on; already the dazzling 
sparkles had vanished from the 
snow, and rosy sunbeams slipped 
among the glistening tree shafts 
and lay with the tall shadows upon 
the ground of the forest aisles. 
She nestled closer against him. 

“ Tell me some more,” she urged. 
“ Sure, ’t is me hist’ry from the 
cradle up that I ’m afther tellin’ 
ye, ’t is your turn now. I don’t 
know so much as your name, 
though I do be runnin’ away wid 

ye.” 


[ 66 ] 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 

“ Muvver calls me heart-names 
— I telled you what ; and uncle 
says E-lis-a-beth when he ’s cross, 
uvver times, child, or Betty. I 
wroted it at the end — Betty Ham- 
mond. It was just make b’lieve 
writing, only I thought you ’d 
know — ” 

“ Aisy, swateheart, aisy! Av 
coorse I did.” 

“ You got it, didn’t you?” she 
demanded, sitting bolt upright, 
and facing him as the possibility 
of a dreadful mischance took pos- 
session of her whole being. 

“ What do ye mane, mavour- 
neen? ” 

“ Why, the letter I wroted; oh, 
ever so long ago, — the letter that 
went up the chimbly. I saw it fly 
away. Muvver says that ’s the 
children’s post-box ev’rywheres.” 

[ 67 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

A light dawned upon him; not, 
alas, from his own childhood, which 
had been poor and sordid enough, 
and held no such golden make-be- 
lieves, though in other ways he had 
entered into the beautiful kingdom 
to the utter forgetting of cold and 
hunger, want and sorrow, but from 
what he had heard here and there 
from little lips in his long journey 
through life. He had always been 
the children’s friend. He looked 
into her anxious eyes, therefore, 
and winked slowly. 

“Whist, now! your Christmas 
letther,” he said, “ an’ that ’s what, 
— the wan that towld me how to 
set to work. Come, say the list 
over slow till I see if we both mane 
the same thing.” 

She put up her hand, and 
dragged his head down until his 
[ 68 ] 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 

ear was on a level with her lips; 
then she poured in the secret, in- 
terrupted by happy bursts of 
laughter. 

“ Begorra, the stockin’ will have 
to be made av injy rubber, or ’t will 
burrst intoirely.” 

“I’m going to put a chair 
under,” she confided hurriedly, 
“ and if the things won’t go quite 
in you can leave them there. Did 
you ’member ’em all? The little 
crosses low on the paper I meant 
for kisses, you know.” 

“ Howly St. Pathrick! I was 
afther thinkin’ they was extrys.” 

“ You must get a most ’normous 
lot of letters,” she said thought- 
fully, a moment later. 

“ ’T would be aisier countin’ the 
sands on the sayshore than to 
count thim,” he answered, entering 
[ 69 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

heartily into his role of the jolly 
saint, “ me secretaries an’ under- 
secretaries niver rest at all; they 
do be dhroppin’ wid fatague, the 
poor fellies ! ’T is entries they 
have to make, an’ double-entries, 
an’ charges an’ counter-charges, an’ 
I must give each wan my speshul 
supre vision — ” 

“ Do you burn our letters up 
after you ’ve read them? ” 

“Do I look like a man as wud 
desthroy his love-letters, alanna, 
fer that’s what they are? Not 
me ! I ’ve the walls av me mansion 
papered wid thim, an’ I ’ve auty- 
graph quilts an’ tablecloths made 
out av thim, an’ curt’ins to me 
doors an’ windys, an’ sofy-pillers 
an’ chair-sates, — oh, ’tis an in- 
janeyus mind I have. Sure, the 
shtuff av drames makes foine 
[ 70 ] 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 

wearin’ material, an’ don’t ye fer- 
git it. I had to build an appin- 
dix to me house year before last, 
an’ last year there was an ad- 
denda, an’ this year I ’m goin’ to 
t’row out an L, an’ if things con- 
tinny the same I ’ll have to add the 
whole alphabet before I know it.” 

“Of course it must be a big 
place to keep all the toys of the 
world there.” 

“ Whist, me darlint, no house in 
the wurrld wud be big enough to 
howld all the toys an’ all the 
drames av the childer too; an’ I ’d 
sooner be havin’ the latter than the 
former anny day. ’T is as much as 
I can manage to kape me auty- 
graph collection intacks, so I have 
workin’ drawin’s av the toys, an’ 
the big dipartmintal shtores in the 
cities an’ towns an’ villidges do 
[71 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

kape the rale articles. An’ by the 
same token I ’ve me dep-puties 
stationed iv’rywhere to git things 
ready forninst me cornin’, an’ thin 
I can make the journey wid the 
spade av the wind — ” 

Her head dropped against his 
arm. 

“ Not Whitefoot and Danny,” 
she said drowsily, “ but Dancer 
and Prancer and Vixen, — I like 
Vixen best in the picture ; then 
there ’s On-come-et, and — ” 

She did n’t finish her sentence, 
and he, looking down, discovered 
the reason. 

“ The darlint,” he said. “ Faith, 
’t is tired out complately ye are, 
an’ the slape will refresh ye. 
Cuddle dost, mavourneen. ’T is 
a day fer a notch on the shtick 
annyway, an’ I ’ll niver fer git it.” 

[ 72 ] 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 

He tucked the rugs about her as 
tenderly as her mother could have 
done, though his fingers were 
clumsy, and unused to such offices. 
Then, after he had seen to her 
comfort, he bethought himself of 
his own, and had a merry meeting 
with that Other, — quite a longish 
meeting this time, — and he mur- 
mured the same toast, repeating 
the words again and again with 
funny little nods by way of em- 
phasis. After which he fell to 
singing, rather loudly, the divert- 
ing history of “ Kelly’s Cat — 

“ It was on a Sunday evenin’ — I ’ll mind 
it evermore. 

Whin Paddy Kelly wint to bed an’ fergot 
to bar the door. 

The cat riz up an’ shook hersilf widout 
either dread or fear. 

An’ over the hollow to Barney’s she 
quickly thin did steer. 

[ 73 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

The night bein’ cold an’ stormy, an’ the 
cat bein’ poor an’ thin. 

An’ the windy, it bein’ open, she — ” 

He broke off here, his chin fall- 
ing forward on his chest. Danny 
and Whitefoot, however, were 
used to his ways, and knew their 
own duty too well to stop because 
the reins fell so slack on their 
backs; they jogged on quite as 
steadily as if he were awake. It 
was a lonely country where there 
was little travel, so there was no 
fear of meeting any one and no 
reason for turning out; all they 
had to do was to keep on. Pres- 
ently he stirred and opened his 
eyes. 

“ ’T is forty winks I ’ve been 
havin’, an’ they ’ve made a new 
man av me,” he said, with a prodi- 
gious yawn. “ But begorra, I 
[ 74 ] 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 

dramed me arrm was held in the 
grip av a monsther. ’T is useless 
an’ shtiff it is this very minnit. 
Faith, ’tis as sound aslape as if 
ould Pickett was tellin’ wan av his 
wurrld widout ind shtories. Arrah ! 
wake up wid ye — ” 

He started to jerk his arm free, 
and glanced down with some im- 
patience; but the sight of what 
rested there made him pause. So 
that was the monster he had 
dreamed was holding him fast! 
He had forgotten the child for the 
moment, forgotten, too, the part 
he was playing; then everything 
came back with a rush as he gazed 
at her peaceful little face. 

“ Sure, ’t is no shtiff ness at all, at 
all,” he muttered. 44 What ’s the 
weight av a feather fer a man to 
complain av? ’T is like the touch 
[75 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 


av an angel’s wing, so it is, an’ 
proud I am to fale it, — proud an’ 
plazed. Lie shtill, Cuslila ma- 
chree , lie shtill.” 

But she had been partially 
aroused by his attempt to ease 
himself, and very obligingly 
changed her position, cuddling 
down on the seat. He helped to 
fix her anew, murmuring fond 
little phrases, and as her eyelids 
fluttered open he bade her go to 
sleep again. She obeyed without 
question; the air made her very 
drowsy, and the steady forward 
motion of the sleigh was like the 
lulling of a cradle. He began to 
sing again almost immediately, 
though in a subdued key, and still 
about “ Kelly’s Cat.” But he took 
scant pleasure in the song; half 
of its fun lay in hearing the laugh- 
[ 76 ] 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 

ter it always evoked, and he missed 
her silvery merriment. To sing a 
comic song just for one’s own 
amusement is rather dreary work, 
after all. Everything is better 
when it is shared; a laugh is al- 
ways jollier, and even the heaviest 
sorrow will grow lighter at a true 
word of sympathy. 

He did not complete the history 
of the celebrated combat, there- 
fore, but after a few lines brought 
it to a close and began something 
else. Then, before he knew it, a 
song that had lived in the back- 
ground of his memory for many 
years found its way, for the little 
child’s sake, to his lips. Curiously 
enough it did n’t seem to him that 
he was singing it, for through the 
words he could hear his mother’s 
worn voice carrying the tune for- 
[ 77 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

ward, and his own voice, the best 
in all the country round for troll- 
ing out a drinking catch or some 
fantastic rigamarole set to music, 
grew so tender that the roisterers 
at Wistar’s, or up at Merle, would 
never have recognized it. But if 
they could have heard him they 
wouldn’t have laughed; the song 
would have been like a little key 
unlocking the gates of childhood; 
even if the words had been unfa- 
miliar to them the sweet sounds 
would have taken them back. 

After he had finished singing he 
sat very still, one hand holding the 
reins, the other resting gently on 
the warm little bundle at his side; 
but his thoughts were far back in 
that distant past where, because of 
his light heart, he only dwelt on the 
golden spots — and his nature had 
[ 78 ] 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 

made many such. Then he be- 
gan to build some castles in that 
dear, impossible, ever-true country 
where one may rear the most beau- 
tiful houses and have them ready 
to be lived in in the wink of an 
eye; where there are never any 
vexing questions of rent, or taxes, 
and one does n’t have to bother 
about gas, or electricity (such a 
wonderful lighting system as they 
have there, by the way!) , and there 
are never any repairs to be made. 
Perhaps a prosaically minded ar- 
chitect would never have called 
Terry’s dream-house a castle, but 
such sober matter-of-factness is 
not to be envied. Very much hap- 
pier are the people who live in the 
clouds at times, though they do 
have many a tumble to earth, than 
the ones who never see things 
[ 79 ] 


santa claus’ sweetheart 

through the rose-colored glasses 
of fancy, but plod along in the 
dull light of a common gray- 
ness. 

Terry belonged to the first kind, 
and because his mind was still full 
of the nonsense he had uttered to 
his companion he began to build a 
beautiful palace where the dreams 
of little children could come true. 
On every side he could see their 
wishes written plainly, sometimes 
in copy-book writing, sometimes in 
big print, and sometimes again in 
those funny, wavering uphill lines 
that Santa Claus never fails to 
read. And everywhere he could 
hear merry laughter and shouts, 
and the sounds of scrambling, rac- 
ing feet. It was a beautiful pal- 
ace ! He chuckled to himself, 
seeing it so distinctly, and then, 
[ 80 ] 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 

suddenly — very suddenly — just 
in front of him, a trifle at one 
side of the road, stood a small, 
square house of the sort that your 
eminently practical, no-thought-of- 
beauty contractor would build. 
Terry’s hand, reins and all, went 
up to his eyes to clear the mist 
from before them. Impossible! 
He knew the country as well as 
Danny and Whitefoot, and he 
knew, too, that no such house stood 
there ; the shantymen’s hut, the 
only human habitation for miles, 
was still some distance off. He 
looked again sharply, convinced 
that in the darkening land some 
snow-covered tree had taken on 
the likeness to a building. And 
he was quite right — there was 
no house. 

The bells smote the air sullenly 
6 [ 81 ] 


santa claus’ sweetheart 

and soberly as the horses started 
once more on their patient, even 
course ; they did not merit the 
sharp flap of the reins on their 
backs, — they were doing their 
best. Terry tried to go on with his 
dreams, but the thread of fancy 
once broken is hard to recover ; 
he caught bravely at it — and there 
stood the house again, square, 
squat, unpicturesque, with the low 
stable at one side connected by the 
covered way, as is the custom in 
cold countries. He rubbed his eyes, 
and, it was gone again — they 
had driven right through it! He 
laughed, but not gayly. Two parts 
of him seemed to be dreaming — 
the one that built a castle for little 
children, the other that thought of 
solemn, elderly folk. He began 
to sing : 


[ 82 ] 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 

“ Now Mrs. McGrath to the Sargint said, 

Sure I ’d like me son to be a corpril 
made, 

Wid a foine rid coat an’ a goold laced 
hat — 

Och Tiddy me b’y, wuddent you like that ? 

Musha ti ral la — ’ ” 

It was no use! The house was 
quite near him again, with its chim- 
ney breathing out a soft little line 
of smoke, and its tin roof dull in 
the level light — the roof that had 
flashed like a reproving eye hours 
earlier. And then he knew! He 
turned and looked back fearfully. 
As far as he could see there was 
no sign of life; before him it was 
the same tale — even the house his 
fancy had conjured up had van- 
ished. It was very still save for 
the bells on his horses, and they 
were not clinking merrily just 
then, only giving out a monoto- 
[ 83 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

nous jog-trot sound that did not 
deafen him to the faint voice cry- 
ing very far away: “Dear my 
little own, where are you?” He 
shivered among his furs, still look- 
ing back, and sobbingly the words 
came again: “ Dear my little own, 
where are you? ” 

Danny and Whitefoot pawed 
the snow uneasily. Merle was still 
distant, and they were anxious to 
be at rest ; they even determined to 
pull more steadily, more swiftly; 
they had been saving their best 
wind for that, but the hand on the 
reins kept them still. 

“ Och! wurra, wurra, that iver I 
shtooped to desate,” the old man 
murmured. “ What will I do wid 
juty sayin’ ‘ go forrard,’ an’ juty 
sayin’ ‘ go back ’? ’T is most thirty 
miles from the shantymen’s hut to 
[ 84 ] 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 

that lonely little house, an’ I can’t 
take the journey over ag’in. Whist 
there, mither, wid your callin’ to 
the colleen, or ’t is cracked me heart 
will be intoirely. Aisy now! the 
voice av you is far away loike, an’ 
yet ’t is plain as thunder in me ears. 
Sure, I thought the fun av the 
wurrld was in this thing, an’ I 
meant no harm at all — whist there, 
mither dear! They do be waitin’ 
fer me up at Merle, — thim an’ the 
Christmas fun — an’ Christmas 
only cornin’ wanst a year! — an’ 
there ’s the wager besides. Och ! 
wurra, wurra, what will I do? I 
must go on, but ’t is n’t wid me the 
darlint can be goin’.” 

He recognized that very clearly 
now when it was almost too late. 
His home as the child dreamed of 
it and his home as it really was 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

were two very different things. 
He could n’t take her to the tavern 
at Merle, with its rough, carousing 
crowd — such fun was not for 
her — and he had nowhere else to 
go. Then he thought of the road 
ever getting darker and darker, of 
the frozen lake with its treacherous 
ice that he must cross, of the night 
growing colder — he knew how 
to keep himself warm, but it was 
another matter where she was con- 
cerned. And when he went driv- 
ing into Merle to claim his bet his 
hand might not be steady — that 
had happened so often before! and 
there was that ugly bit just below 
the tavern, where even the most 
careful driver must pick his way 
warily; but with a little child — 
the thought made him giddy. No 
— no — no — he could n’t take her 
[ 86 ] 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 

with him, that was impossible ! 
And equally he saw, because he 
knew himself so well, he couldn’t 
take her back to her mother’s long- 
ing arms. He couldn’t go back! 
He sat quite still, turning over dif- 
ferent plans in his mind, while the 
precious minutes slipped by un- 
heeded. Finally his brow cleared a 
trifle. There was but one solution 
to the difficulty — the lumbermen 
might help him — must help him; 
he would see that they had no 
choice in the matter. As he 
reached this decision some of his 
old reckless daring came back to 
him; but he bore himself in a 
shamefaced fashion, and with none 
of his usual jauntiness, though 
he straightened his shoulders, and 
tried to appear unconcerned. He 
began to whistle, too, as if to 
[ 87 ] 


santa claus’ sweetheart 

silence the wailing cry that still 
pursued the sleigh — he would not 
let himself listen. 

“Och! child,” he said, looking 
down at the little maid, “ ’t is sorry 
I am fer ye, darlint, but ’t will 
all come right in the mornin’ — 
throubles always do. Whist now! 
’t is sorriest I am fer mesilf, since 
I can’t help mesilf at all — I bein’ 
what I am, ye see.” 

He put his hand into his coat, 
and though his fingers came in con- 
tact with the flat bottle, they did 
not draw it forth; they groped 
farther, past the inner coat and 
beneath the tjouse, to something 
that hung against his chest sus- 
pended from a cord. When he 
brought out his hand it held a 
dingy little bag. He stripped off 
the outer covering, disclosing a 
[ 88 ] 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 

cheap gilt locket and the half of a 
broken sixpence. With shaking 
fingers he took a wisp of hair from 
the trinket, and wrapping it up 
again thrust it back into his breast ; 
but the locket and the coin he 
folded in a bit of newspaper, and 
stooped once more to the child. 

“ Sure, it ain’t a dolly that will 
shut its eyes, mavourneen, that I 
do be givin’ ye fer a Christmas 
gift,” he whispered; “but mebbe 
ye ’ll like it fer the sake av wan 
as loved it. An’ God Almighty 
an’ all the howly saints bless ye 
feriver an’ iver, amin.” 

She stirred at his touch and 
opened her eyes, misty still with 
sleep. For a moment she looked at 
him in some doubt, then, as she 
struggled into a sitting position, 
she laughed gayly. 

[ 89 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

“ Oh! it ’s really and truly you.” 
Her glance swept their surround- 
ings. “ And are we home now — 
at your very home? Is that it? ” 

The walls of the lumbermen’s 
hut showed indistinctly through the 
clearing. It was almost dark; 
the night that comes swiftly in 
the north lands was folding its 
mantle like a great soft wing 
over the whole country, though in 
the west there was still a faint 
streak of rose, as if the day was 
sorry to go, and so it lingered in 
that little tender time between the 
lights, when one can dream best of 
all. 

“ Is that home ? ” she asked 
again, very softly. 

“ Listen, Swateheart. But first 
take this wee packidge — Aisy, 
now! ye mustn’t fale the edges 
[ 90 ] 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 


— an’ shtow it away in your pocket 
if ye have wan ; ’t is not to be 
looked at, nor so much as prodded, 
mind ye, till sunrise to-morry. Re- 
number ! An’ second — faith, me 
second is hardest fer me, fer ’tis 
good-by I must be sayin’.” 

Her lip trembled. 

“ But I ’m goin’ with you all the 
way,” she declared stoutly. 

“ Sure, an’ I wish it from me 
heart, only ’t is partin’ we must be. 
Ye see ye can go on, an’ Danny 
an’ Whitefut will be proud to draw 
ye; but ’tis ’most night, an’ the 
way gets bad up yonder, an’ 
there ’s the lake to cross, an’ I ’m 
not always the stiddy driver — to 
me shame be it said — ” 

“ I ’d sit very still — ” 

“ An’ ’t will be cold, bitther cold! 
Thin I ’ve been thinkin’, I did n’t 
[ 91 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

tell ye this afore; but no child 
has iver seen me house — ’t is a 
thing av drames (an’ sure that ’s 
the truth!) . Whisper now, cud ye 
see it, it wud all split to smither- 
eens wid a crack like doom. An’ 
where wud I be thin? The folks 
wud have to do widout me, I ’m 
thinkin’ — ” 

“ The little children — us? ” she 
asked round-eyed. 

“ That wud be the size av it. 
Av coorse ye could kape on wid 
the dep-puties ; I ’ve trained thim 
well, an’ the spirit av Christmas 
niver dies, the givin’ an’ the lovin’, 
fer the Lord made thim in his own 
imidge. But ye ’d be missin’ me, 
ye know.” 

She was very still, the little 
pucker showing between her anx- 
ious brows. 


[ 92 ] 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 

“ I ’ve an iligint plan. Yon ’s a 
foine place to spind the night, an’ 
iv’rything will come right in the 
mornin’. Oh! ye ’ll see. An’ ye ’ll 
hang up your shtockin’ same as 
usuwil; but first ye must put that 
bit there down in the toe av it, 
an’ ’t will be Merry Christmas all 
’round. Will ye tell me good-by 
now, swateheart, an’ let me go on 
to kape me wurrd that I ’ve been 
af ther passin’ sacred-loike? ” 

“ Yes,” she said gravely. “ I 
wanted to see Vixen and Oncome-it 
close, but I ’ll let you go, ’count o’ 
the children, ev’rywheres.” 

He lifted her gently to the 
ground, and she stood quietly at 
one side while he tumbled out the 
barrel and the bags from the back 
of the sleigh with great caution. 
He could not stay for a word; al- 
[ 93 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

ready he had much time to make 
up, and discussion of any sort, 
hospitality even, would retard him. 
The light had quite disappeared 
from the west, and a few pale 
stars — God’s candles, he called 
them — were beginning to kindle 
in the dark above. He stooped to 
her. 

“ Whin I ’m gone, Cushla ma- 
chree , ye ’ll go to the door an’ 
they ’ll let ye in — they ’re foine 
fellies. ’T is but a shtep up there 
annyhow; ye can’t niver miss it 
— see, ivhere the rid light shows 
t ’rough the cracks. An’ ye ’ll not 
ferget me, little wan?” 

“No — no,” she choked. 

He caught her in his arms and 
kissed her; but though he held her 
very close, he could not see her face 
well because of the misty curtain 
[ 94 ] 


EXIT SANTA CLAUS 


that had dropped suddenly before 
his eyes. In that moment he real- 
ized how far, how very far, below 
her thought of him he really was. 
He put her down almost roughly, 
detaching the little clinging fingers 
with scant tenderness, and sprang 
into the sleigh. An instant, from 
that vantage point, he looked her 
way; then Danny and Whitefoot, 
surprised into using their best wind 
by a fierce sting of the whip, 
dashed into the dark, their bells 
swinging out a sharp, tremulous 
cry of bronze that cut the air like 
a knife. 

“ Good-by,’’ she called in a 
breaking voice. 

And back from the distance 
came the answer: 

“ Good-by, little swateheart. 
God love ye an’ — ” 

[ 95 ] 


SANTA CLAUS* SWEETHEART 

She stood waiting, listening to 
the bells that grew faint and 
fainter until they were like a chime 
from Fairyland; when at last her 
loving ears could hear them no 
longer she turned and trotted obe- 
diently to the house. The door 
was closed, but a narrow thread of 
light glimmered warmly at the sill, 
and a tiny fiery eye peeped out 
half way up the dark surface. She 
struck the wood with her little 
clinched fist; struck it once, then 
again — a twig snapping off in 
the teeth of the frost would have 
sounded louder. 

From within there came the 
noise of many voices and great 
bursts of laughter, but no lessen- 
ing of the merriment made room 
for her appeal. 


[ 96 ] 


wms&m * i 



She stood waiting, listening to the bells. 










CHAPTER IV 


CHRISTMAS EYE AT 

thornby's 

I T was a large, roughly-finished 
room, lighted for the most 
part by the great heap of 
logs that blazed on the hearth, 
though a lantern fixed against the 
wall, at the opposite side, in front 
of a tin reflector, shone bravely, as 
if to say that it was doing its best 
despite the fact that no one heeded 
its efforts. For the occupants of 
the room, without an exception, 
were gathered about the camboose, 
or fireplace, where in the full glow 
of the leaping flames a number of 
stockings were hung; not because 
7 [ 97 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

it was Christmas Eve, but for the 
more prosaic reason that they must 
be dried. Every working day 
showed the same display, — the 
men, on an average, hanging up 
two or three pairs apiece. Still 
they were keeping their Christmas 
Eve vigil after a fashion, though it 
was not in the orthodox way, and, 
notwithstanding its noise, it lacked 
the real flavor of the blessed season. 

“ What was that? ” Shawe asked 
suddenly. 

“ Did n’t hear a blessed thing. 
Fire ahead, Sandy; ev’ry chap’s 
got a stunt to do this night, an’ the 
fust lot ’s fell to you. Come, be- 
gin — Where ’s that lazy raskill 
Terry? He ’d oughter be’n here 
hours agone.” 

“ Back at Wistar’s,” a young 
fellow growled. “ Told yer what 
[98 J 


CHRISTMAS EVE AT THORNBY’s 

to expect when yer singled him out 
to fetch the grub. A sorry Christ- 
mas we 11 have. Any meal left in 
the bar’l, Cooky? ” 

“ ’Nough to make pap fer you 
in the mornin’, kid,” Cooky re- 
sponded with a grunt, “ so don’t 
be sheddin’ tears — you an’ yer 
delikit appetite will pull t’rough. 
’T is plum-puddin’ the child was 
expectin’.” 

The young fellow laughed al- 
most good-naturedly. 

“ Gorry! what ’d I give to smell 
a plum-puddin’ even. There was 
a Christmas oncet when I ’d the 
taste o’ one. There was turkey 
before, an’ the bird was a tip- 
topper, but it don’t live in my 
mem’ry like the puddin’. That 
come in with a wreath o’ greens 
’bout its brown head, an’ its sides 

Lore. [99] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

crackin’ open with plums the size 
o’ Jake’s thumb there. An’ there 
was clouds o’ incinse risin’ from it, 
an’ the smell o’ the burnin’ sperits, 
an’ the blue flames lickin’ each 
other with joy at the taste they 
got — ’T is before my eyes this 
bloomin’ minnit, an’ my ears is 
deafened with the roars the fellers 
sent up; you could ha’ heard ’em 
a mile off — ” 

A chorus of protesting voices 
interrupted further reminiscences. 
“ Shut up, will yer? ” “ T’row 

him out, some one.” “ You ’ve 
no call to make our mouths water 
so.” 

“A pudden,” a thin-faced man 
said dreamily as the din subsided, 
“ I never seed its like. An’ a-fire, 
you say. What was thet fer? ” 

“ Why, fer the celebration, ij it.” 

[ 100 ] 


CHRISTMAS EYE AT THORNBY’s 

“ Begorra,” another voice broke 
in, “ I ’d like to live in the counthry 
where they ’ve the crayther to burn. 
Did it smell good? ” 

“ Smell good? ” again the young 
fellow laughed. “ ’T was better 
than a gardin full o’ roses when the 
wind blows soft an’ warm over 
’em ; ’t was finer an’ more pena- 
tratin’ than the o-dick-alone the 
tenderfoots parfume themselves 
with. An’ there was the sarse be- 
sides, with a dash o’ rum in it to 
make it slip down easier.” 

“ Sarse!” The ejaculation was 
a groan. “ My things come plain.” 

“ Thet ’s about the size o’ it 
fer ev’ry mother’s son of us,” some 
one began philosophically, then in 
helpless rage at the turn affairs 
had taken he finished with a wail: 
“ Hang thet Terry O’Connor. 
[ 101 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

He ’d oughter remembered to- 
morrer ’s Christmas — ” 

“ Christmas is like any other day 
to us,” an elderly chopper inter- 
posed grimly. “ It ’s only meant 
fer the kids.” 

A man near the fire stirred rest- 
lessly. 

“ Back there,” he said, with a 
sweep of his thumb, “ they hang 
up the stockin’s all in a row — six 
of ’em! — an’ my woman makes 
shift to fill ’em, too — ” 

“ How they chitter in the 
mornin’,” another man chimed in, 
“ before it ’s reely light. Don’ 
know as there ’s any sound quite so 
nice as that. Wisht I was home 
to hear it — Gord! I do.” 

“Never hed no little stockin’ 
hangin’ afore my chimbly,” — the 
occupant of the big barrel chair 
[ 102 ] 


CHRISTMAS EVE AT THORNBY’s 

looked into the blaze thoughtfully 
as he made the statement, “ baby’s 
sock was too teeny that fust year, 
an’ after — ” 

“ Faith, I niver had no chimbly 
av me own at all,” a reckless voice 
interrupted with a hard laugh. 
4 4 Here to-day, an’ gone to-morrer, 
an’ divil a sowl to care where I was. 
It made little differ to me thin, but 
’t is a wide wurrld an’ a lonely wan 
when a man ’s gittin’ on in the 
years.” 

44 Only got so fur ez the patty- 
cakin’ age, ez you might say,” — 
it was the man in the barrel chair 
who was speaking again, — 44 but 
turr’ble over-masterin’ — turr’ble ! 
When ye come to think uv it, there 
ain’t anything like a baby fer over- 
masterin’ness ; he jes’ makes a 
clean sweep o’ ev’ry blessed thing.” 

[ 103 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

The Frenchman in the corner 
leaned forward excitedly. 

“ I nevaire hang ze stockin’ up 
zat time I was what you call a 
keed,” he cried, “ but zere was a 
leetle tree an’ a Christ chil’ up at 
ze ver’ top. Zey had eet een ze 
eglise an’ every chil’ een ze pareesh 
was made ver’ happy. So for two- 
t’ree years did I get a — a — what 
you say? ” 

“ A present, Frenchy.” 

“ But yes, a — a prresent. Zen 
I must go to worrk, an’ Christmas 
eet is ovaire for me. ‘ Adieu, 
beaux jours de mon enfance! ’ ” 

The leaping firelight fell upon 
grave faces; dear, lazy laughter 
had slipped very far away from 
the warmth and glow. 

“ What ’s that? ” 

“ You ’re like an ould faymale 

[ 104 ] 


CHRISTMAS EVE AT THORNBY’S 

widdy woman, Shawe, wid your 
fidgits an’ starts, an’ your inquis- 
itiveness. That? ’Tis an ash 
failin’ to the hearth; ’tis a burd 
askin’ to be let in ; ’t is Christmas 
come to hunt us up far from home 
an’ the frien’s we love so dear. 
Man alive ! if you ’re so set to 
know what it is, go an’ find out 
fer yoursilf.” 

“Yes, go an’ be hanged to you! ” 
The chorus was unanimous. 

Shawe did not wait for the per- 
mission, go he would; as for being 
hanged, that was quite another 
matter. He left his place in the 
warm corner, and, picking his way 
dexterously over the tangle of 
outstretched legs, he strode across 
the room to the door, flinging it 
wide. The cold air rushed in in a 
great gust that caused the men to 
[ ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

shiver in their places, and made 
some of them swear angrily at 
him; but he did not heed their 
words. His ear had earlier caught 
a faint cry, yet as he stood facing 
the night his level eyes saw noth- 
ing in the darkness ; then the sound 
came again, and this time quite far 
below him. His glance fell; the 
next moment he started back in 
amazement. 

“ My God! ” he cried sharply. 

There was a great creaking of 
stools and boxes in the room behind 
him as the men, startled out of 
their indifference by his exclama- 
tion, turned to see what had occa- 
sioned it, those who were farthest 
away rising to their feet and cran- 
ing curiously over the shoulders of 
their companions in front. Shawe 
had moved a trifle to one side, and 
[ 106] 


CHRISTMAS EYE AT THORNBY’s 

they had an unobstructed view 
through the open door, that framed 
the glimpse of the dark world 
without, of the strip of snow in the 
foreground gleaming ruddily with 
lamp and firelight ; and just where 
the glow fell brightest stood a little 
child, her face raised in entreaty. 
For a long moment they looked 
with held breaths, incredulous, won- 
dering, half fearful that the vision 
would disappear at the least move- 
ment on their part ; several of their 
number made the quick sign of 
their creed, and one man covered 
his eyes with a shaking hand, but 
no one spoke. Then Shawe stooped 
to her. 

“ Who are you? ” he asked very 
gently, touching the little flesh- 
and-blood shoulder with tender 
fingers; she was no spirit then. 

[ 107 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

“ I ’m Santa Claus’ sweetheart, 
— you know Santa Claus. He left 
some things for you out there, then 
he went away.” 

“Mother o’ Moses! the child 
must mane Terry,” one of the men, 
quicker than the rest, exclaimed. 
“ The ould riprobate! An’ but fer 
your ears, Shawe, she might ha’ 
be’n froze shtiff fer all we ’d 
knowed — an’ Christmas Day to- 
morrer.” 

Shawe drew his breath hard. 

“ Thank God, I did hear,” he 
said through his closed teeth; then 
he lifted the small stranger in his 
arms, and as the thronging men 
fell back on either side he carried 
her through the little lane thus 
formed up to the fire. He put her 
down gently and knelt before her, 
chafing her hands and face with 
[ 108 ] 


CHRISTMAS EYE AT THORNBY’s 

rapid touches; after a few mo- 
ments thus spent he set clumsily 
to work to unfasten her hood and 
coat. She kept very still while he 
knotted instead of unknotting the 
strings, only her eyes moving from 
face to face frankly curious, yet 
without an atom of fear in their 
glance. There were forty pairs 
of eyes to meet, and in each she 
left a little smile. 

At last the outer wrappings were 
cast aside, and, as Betty stood be- 
fore them, a small, slim figure, very 
different in appearance from the 
shapeless, roly-poly bundle of a 
short time previous, with her fair 
hair ruffled into little curls and ten- 
drils that made a soft nimbus about 
her head, she seemed even more 
like some lovely spirit than they, 
awed by the strangeness of her 
[ 109 ] 


SANTA CLAUS* SWEETHEART 

coming, had thought her. Yet her 
first action was quite suificient to 
remove all doubts that she be- 
longed to another sphere. Those 
inquisitive eyes of hers, taking a 
survey of the room and its inmates, 
lighted suddenly upon the stock- 
ings dangling before the fire; they 
widened at the sight, then the 
smiles brimmed over and her whole 
face broke up into glee. How 
could she feel strange, or afraid, 
in a place where — big, grown-up 
men though they all were — such 
signs of expectancy were so openly 
displayed? She slipped from the 
protecting arm and ran close to 
the hearth, clapping her hands in 
delight. 

“ Oh! you ’re all ready for Santa 
Claus,” she cried. “My! how 
he ’ll have to work — there ’s such 
[no] 


CHRISTMAS EYE AT THORNBY’s 

a ’normous lot. But he ’ll fill ’em 
all.” She threw out this balm in 
eager haste. 44 He ’s truly coming; 
he said so. If I ’d gone home with 
him his house would have cracked 
to — to smither-eens, so I stayed.” 

A deafening roar of laughter 
greeted her words and sent her, 
unerringly as a homing bird, back 
to her first friend, who still knelt 
on the floor; but resting against 
him her fears vanished almost in- 
stantly, and, as she glanced around 
with renewed confidence, her pretty 
silvery laugh tinkled out to join 
their rougher merriment. The 
men pressed closer, one of them, 
the oldest, acting as spokesman. 
He was the man whose chimney 
had never seen any Christmas 
stockings hanging before it, the 
baby’s sock being too tiny in that 

[ in 1 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

far-away year; but he seemed to 
know better than any of them how 
to ask just the right questions that 
would set free the little tongue. 
Betty climbed gladly up on his 
knee, and from her new perch 
poured forth an account of her 
wonderful adventures. 

It was the fault of her compan- 
ions, surely, and not her own that 
the things that were so real and 
true to her were like myths out of 
Fairyland to them, because they 
had travelled farther down the 
stream of time. Much of what she 
said was unintelligible to their dull, 
grown-up minds ; but if each word 
had been of gold they could not 
have waited for it more eagerly; 
and when she stopped in her recital 
of that marvellous journey to 
laugh at some remembrance of 
[ 112 ] 


CHRISTMAS EYE AT THORNBY’s 

Santa Claus’ fooling, they looked 
at one another, smiling in perfect- 
est sympathy. Perhaps, after all, 
they understood — who shall say? 
There was no interruption, except 
when old Jerome hazarded some 
remark that helped on the tale ; and 
the only person to move was a tall, 
gaunt man, who bent mysteriously 
over the fire and made something 
that smelled like — like the most 
delicious thing in all the world. 
You have to ride for hours through 
the snow, and feel the keen air in 
your face, and be as hungry as a 
bear into the bargain, to know just 
what that is. 

By some remarkable law of coin- 
cidence the story and the cooking 
came to an end at one and the same 
moment; nothing could have been 
more timely. Betty’s whole atten- 
8 [ 113 ] 


SANTA 1 CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

tion was quickly transferred to the 
tin plate which was placed before 
her; and her evident appreciation 
of the good things of life was so 
keen that the lookers-on, who even 
in that short time had learned that 
their rougher ways frightened her, 
laughed gently among themselves. 
Well, they understood that too! 
While she was busy over her sup- 
per, to the utter forgetting of her 
surroundings, several of the men 
went outside to see if they could 
find any traces of the recreant 
Santa Claus; they returned after 
a hasty search, bringing in the bar- 
rel and bags — sufficient proof 
that Terry, despite all convictions, 
wise head-shakings, and gloomy 
forebodings, had not failed them. 
He had kept his word. But the 
mystery deepened — Who was the 

[ 114 ] 


CHRISTMAS EYE AT THORNBY’s 

little maid? Aside from her name, 
which was an unfamiliar one to 
them, they had not been able to 
learn anything definite about her. 
The excited little brain only seemed 
to live over the immediate past, in 
which Santa Claus had figured so 
importantly; the fact that she 
was his sweetheart apparently out- 
weighing every other consideration. 

“ Terry O’Connor hain’t a chick, 
nor child, an’ never hed,” old Je- 
rome declared stoutly, as somebody 
ventured this solution of the diffi- 
culty, “ nor there ain’t any kin 
b ’longin’ to him — guess I orter 
know — I ’ve knowed him ’ninti- 
mut these thirty years — ” 

“ Losh, man!” interrupted 
Sandy, “ then he just inveegled the 
bairn awa’, makin’ oot he was Santa 
Claus. The e-normity of it!” 

C 115 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

“ Oh, Terry must olluz be jokin’ ; 
it ’s his way,” Jerome returned tol- 
erantly. With his arm around the 
small form, and the little golden 
head resting on his breast, he was 
knowing one of the rare, happy 
moments of his life; there could 
be scant condemnation from him 
under the circumstances. 

Betty, who had been alternately 
blinking at the fire, and smiling 
contentedly to herself for some 
time, now interrupted any dispute 
that might have arisen concerning 
her absent friend by giving utter- 
ance to a series of baby yawns. 
The discussion came to a speedy 
close, such signs needing no inter- 
pretation to her hearers. 

“ Don’t ye want to go to sleep, 
deary? ” the old man asked. 

She signified her willingness 

[ ns ] 


CHRISTMAS EYE AT THORNBY’s 

without delay, though first her 
stocking must be hung up among 
the others. He proceeded to draw 
it off; but before that could be 
accomplished, he was let into the 
secrets the buttons on your shoe 
always tell, — what you are to be, 
what you will wear, and in what 
manner you will travel through 
life, — in carriage, cart, wheelbar- 
row, or wagon. When this “ sure- 
as-sure ” knowledge had been 
mastered he stripped off the stock- 
ing, and Shawe, imperiously sum- 
moned, came close and put the wee 
packet, as she directed, way down 
in its very toe ; then he hung it up 
in the centre, where even the blind- 
est deputy, supposing Santa Claus 
unable to get round, would never 
have passed it by. A rollicking 
little cheer went up at sight of 
[ in ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

the small red stocking swinging 
slightly to and fro in the breath 
of the fire; but it died away on 
the instant, for the child had 
slipped to the floor and knelt there 
by the old man’s knee, her face 
hidden in her chubby hands. Per- 
haps in the intense stillness she 
missed the voice that generally 
guided hers, for there was a mo- 
ment of hesitation on her part; 
then she began to pray aloud, halt- 
ing over the words: 

“ Jesus, tender shepherd, hear me; 

Bless thy little lamb to-night, 

In the darkness be thou near me. 

Keep me safe till morning light. 

Let my sins be all forgiven. 

Bless the friends I love so well. 

Take me when I die to heaven. 

There for ever with thee to dwell.” 

She paused a moment: “And 
please, God, take care of muvver, 
[ ] 


CHRISTMAS EYE AT THORNBy’s 

and uncle, and far-away daddy, and 
make Betty a good girl f ’rever and 
ever. Amen.” 

It was very still all around; and 
usually when she finished her 
prayers a soft cheek was laid 
against her own, while a soft voice 
echoed, “ Amen,” and that meant 
“ my heart wants it to be exactly 
so!” Now, however, no one spoke. 
Betty glanced wonderingly about 
as she rose to her feet, a trifle dazed 
and even frightened; but such 
grave, quiet, kind faces looked 
back at her that swiftly she 
dropped to her knees again with 
another petition: “ God bless ev’ry- 
body, an’ most speshilly Santa 
Claus.” 

“Amen,” said old Jerome, in the 
pause that followed. 

A bed had been hastily con- 
[ 119 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

structed in the warmest corner, 
out of the best materials the camp 
afforded, and thither Jerome car- 
ried the child. She nestled down 
drowsily while he tucked the cover- 
ing about her ; but his was an alien 
touch, and through the room there 
suddenly sounded a low, wailing 
cry: 

“ Muwer — oh ! muvver — ” 

“There, Honey; there, Blos- 
som — ” the man’s voice broke, 
the hand that soothed was clumsy 
and old, and it trembled — “ there, 
Honey — ” 

The men sat breathless — wait- 
ing, dreading to hear the cry again ; 
but moment after moment passed, 
and it did not come. There was 
one little sob, then the dream-fairy 
stooped with her comfort. 

How quiet the room was! And 
[ 120 ] 


CHRISTMAS EYE AT THORNBY’s 

this was Christmas Eve — the time 
when each man was to do a stunt 
for the amusement of his fellows 
and the glory of himself. Gener- 
ally on this occasion the Lord of 
Misrule held high carnival, — the 
flowing bowl was like a perpetual 
fountain, and laughter, shouting, 
and horse-play abounded on every 
side. There was rum in plenty 
since Terry had not failed them, 
but no effort was made to secure 
it; desire of that kind was dead, it 
seemed. They were content to sit 
there listening to the soft rise and 
fall of the child’s breath; the land 
of dreams, into which she had 
slipped, open to them also. And 
though it was so different from 
those other Christmas Eves, it was 
far from being dull. Into each 
heart there had crept a soft glow, 

[ 1*1 1 


SANTA CLAUS* SWEETHEART 

which did not come from the blaz- 
ing logs, and which no grog, no 
matter how skilfully blended, could 
have given, for once again the 
presence of one of God’s little ones 
made holy a humble place. 

Shawe was the first to bring the 
stillness to an end. They had been 
sitting quiet, nobody could tell how 
long, when he got to his feet. 
Noiselessly as he moved he broke 
the spell, and eyes that had grown 
misty looked at him, some with re- 
sentment, others with curiosity, and 
others again with reproach. Old 
Jerome’s gaze held the latter qual- 
ity. Nobody knew much about 
Shawe, anyway. He was not one 
of them. He had come to the camp 
some weeks before, and would be 
gone in a day or so — up to Merle 
this time, and then — He was a 
[ 122 ] 


CHRISTMAS EYE AT THORNBY’s 

wanderer — some outcast, perhaps, 
from a better life gone by. No- 
body knew him. They had no quar- 
rel with him ; he was a good enough 
fellow, only not of them. They 
watched him, therefore, almost 
coldly, yet noting with jealous sat- 
isfaction that he stepped warily as 
he passed from the room; then 
they fell to thinking again — with 
a difference. 

He came back after a short ab- 
sence with a soft, dark mink’s skin 
in his hand, — a bit of fur that a 
woman’s fingers could fashion into 
a cap to cover a child’s golden 
hair, — and went to the small stock- 
ing, cramming the gift far down 
to keep that other company. A 
breath of approval fairly twinkled 
around the room. The grave faces 
melted into smiling delight; and 
[ 123 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

just as the circles widen in a pool 
of water when a stone is thrown 
in, spreading farther and farther 
till the whole surface is disturbed, 
so every one present came within 
the influence of Shawe’s action. 
As if by one accord the men hur- 
riedly left their places, making 
scarcely any noise, yet jostling 
against one another in their eager- 
ness to play at being Santa Claus; 
each man seeking out his kit, and 
returning with what would be the 
likeliest thing to please a little 
child. 

A bright red handkerchief, an 
orange one, a third as many colored 
as Joseph’s coat, an old habitant 
sash worth its weight in gold to a 
connoisseur, a scarf-pin set with a 
cairngorm the size of a man’s 
thumb-nail — this from Sandy! — 

[ 124 ] 


CHRISTMAS EYE AT THORNBY’s 

a — you mustn’t laugh — a pair 
of brand-new suspenders, and big 
and little coins that spelled liquor 
or tobacco to the givers, and now 
bought what pleased them infi- 
nitely more. Of course one stock- 
ing could n’t begin to hold the 
gifts, though they were massed 
into a dizzy pyramid at the top, so 
its mate was pressed into service 
and crowded likewise. There was 
a distressing similarity in the pres- 
ents when you came to think of 
it, especially where handkerchiefs 
were concerned ; still, no man with- 
held his giving because another’s 
choice was necessarily the same ; he 
added his contribution proudly, as 
if it were the only one of its kind. 
Frenchy, who had a pretty trick 
of carving, gave a really beautiful 
little frame which his deft fingers 
[ 125 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

had made in the long evenings; 
and the cook, when no one was 
looking, slipped in his prayer-book, 
though I don’t believe any one that 
night would have laughed at his 
having it with him. The young 
fellow they called Kid — he was 
something of a dandy — added a 
ring of massive proportions. It 
was n’t gold, but he pretended it 
was, and. liked to wear it when he 
went to dances to make the girls 
think he was a fine, up-and-coming 
man. And Jerome — poor old 
Jerome — 

It was a very meagre kit that 
he rummaged through again and 
again, — one that he himself had 
packed; and when a man has to 
take care of himself he does n’t put 
in any useless traps, any — what 
you ’d call gewgaws ; not when 
[ 126] 


CHRISTMAS EVE AT THORNBY’s 

he ’s old, that is. So he could 
find nothing there; and a search 
through his pockets revealed the 
same depressing poverty. He had 
nothing — nothing but a certain 
battered snuff-box that had been 
his companion for so many years 
that it would be easier to imagine 
him without his head than without 
the box. He was evidently of that 
opinion, for he stowed it down in 
his pocket with an air of great 
finality. But nevertheless, pol- 
ished to an almost glittering show 
of youth and filled with coins, 
it very fitly crowned the motley 
collection. 

It had taken some time to play 
Santa Claus, for each man had to 
wait his turn to stow away his gift ; 
there were no deputies allowed on 
this occasion, and the bungling 
[ 127 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

fingers could n’t work very quickly, 
— did n’t try to, if the truth were 
known. But all too soon the joy- 
ful task came to an end, and the 
men stood back radiant-eyed, look- 
ing at those bulging little red 
stockings as if they were the 
most beautiful things in all the 
world. 

How the glow spread and spread 
in their hearts, though the fire, 
banked for the night, was shining 
quite dimly now! That mighty 
threefold cable of the Christmas- 
tide — with its strand of inherit- 
ance, its strand of opportunity, 
its strand of affection — bound 
them very closely to one another; 
in that moment old wrongs and 
heart-burnings, bitternesses and 
rivalries slipped away, and they 
knew the blessedness of peace and 
[ 128 ] 


CHRISTMAS EYE AT THORNBY’s 

good-will. Happy? There was 
just one thing to make them hap- 
pier, — the merry voice of a little 
child greeting the misty light of 
the Christmas dawn. 


9 


[ 129 ] 


CHAPTER V 


THE PEACE OF GOD 

T OWARD midnight some- 
body stepped close to the 
improvised bed and stood 
looking down with troubled eyes 
at the child curled up among the 
blankets there. The light from the 
low fire cast an occasional flicker- 
ing flame upon the tiny segment 
of cheek just visible above the 
woollen covering, like a snowdrop 
peeping out of a mass of old 
bracken, and on the floating 
strands of hair that had lost their 
golden sheen in the semi-obscurity. 
An hour or so earlier the men had 
gone to their bunks in the long loft 
[ 130 ] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 

overhead, and their heavy breath- 
ing now proclaimed the fact that 
they were resting from their labors. 
Every one in the house was sleep- 
ing but Shawe; even old Jerome, 
who sat huddled by the side of the 
little one, nodded at his post. He 
had maintained the right of watch- 
ing, by supremacy of his years and 
her evident preference for him, 
jealously putting aside all offers 
that his vigil be shared. He stirred 
now and opened his eyes, staring 
into the face of the man above him. 

“ What is it? ” he demanded with 
a low, savage growl. 

“ I could n’t sleep,” Shawe whis- 
pered back, “ for thinking of the 
ones who are mourning for her, — 
her mother and uncle. The father 
is n’t home, she said. Don’t you 
remember — ‘God bless far-away 
[ 131 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

daddy ’ ? So he won’t be troubled. 
But the others — they ought to 
know. We ’ve had all the Christ- 
mas sport and they nothing but 
black misery and bitterness. They 
ought to know quickly.” 

Old Jerome’s hand fluttered 
above the little head, half fell to 
it, then was drawn reluctantly back. 

“ Ye-es, they ’d orter know,” he 
said dully, “but how? Who is 
she?” He shifted his position, 
averting his eyes. “ I ’ve be’n 
thinkin’ thet p’r’aps she ’s nobut 
a little Christmus sperit come 
to cheer us in this God forsook 
spot — ” 

“ That ’s nonsense, man. Look 
at her sleeping there as human as 
we are, though with a difference. 
I tell you she has kith and kin, and 
their hearts are bleeding for her 
[ 1^2 ] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 

at this moment. I ’m going to find 
them — ” 

“Ye sha’n’t take her with yer, 
Shawe,” the old man whimpered. 
“ I ’ll roust up the others, an’ 
they ’ll fight yer — I — I can’t ; 
she ’s made me too trembly. But 
ye sha’n’t take her.” 

“ You ’re crazy! I ’d no thought 
of taking her. It ’s colder than 
charity outside, and the frost is like 
a badger’s tooth. Besides, it must 
be almost thirty miles to Wistar, 
and there ’s no house nearer, is 
there? No, I go by myself.” 

“ An’ ef ye don’t win through — 
there ’s thet chanst.” 

“ I don’t — that ’s all. But I ’m 
not hopeless — I ’ve got to win 
through.” 

“ Best wait till mornin’,” Jerome 
said, after the silence between them 
[ 133 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

had grown unbearable, “ p’r’aps 
somebody’ll be goin’ by from 
Merle, an’ ye could git a lift, or 
p’r’aps her folks ’ll come from 
somewhars — Ye don’ know whar 
she come from, anyways,” he fin- 
ished triumphantly. 

“We worked out the sum that 
she came with that man Terry. 
Everything she said about Santa 
Claus fitted him like a glove, you — 
who know him — say. And he 
came from Wistar, so she belongs 
there. Perhaps her people did n’t 
miss her till late; and what traces 
would she leave if she came on in 
his sleigh? Answer me that. How 
would they ever dream of search- 
ing for her up here when there ’s 
the river — Good God! a child like 
that wouldn’t notice the spruce 
bush signals put up where the ice 
[ 134 ] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 

is thin; and there are the open 
water-holes by the barns — ” He 
stopped with a deep intake of 
breath, and moved nearer the fire; 
Jerome, watching him furtively, 
saw that he was fully dressed to 
go out. 

“Wal!” he muttered slowly, 
after a time, “ ef ye be so sot on 
goin’, ye ’re goin’, I s’pose. P’r’aps 
ye ’re right. Somehow I was only 
thinkin’ from my side, an’ hedn’t 
got ’roun’ to the mother’s; mebbe 
an ol’ codger like me never would 
ha’ got ’roun’ — can’t say. Here ’s 
my hand.” 

It was an unusual demonstra- 
tion, but Shawe showed no partic- 
ular surprise; everything being a 
little out of the ordinary that 
night. He grasped the extended 
hand warmly, then let it drop, 
[ 135 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

and turned away, bending again 
for a moment over the sleeping 
child. 

“ Wish I were going to hear her 
laugh over the stocking,” he said 
half to himself. 

“Got a wife an’ fambly?” Je- 
rome asked. 

“ No,” the other returned. 

“ Thought mebbe ye hed, 
’count o’ yer thinkin’ how the 
mother’d feel — mebbe ye hed 
oncet.” 

“ Yes,” Shawe answered shortly. 

“ Then ye know how turr’ble 
masterful the kids are. Strange, 
ain’t it? Mine hed got so ez he 
could patty-cake, ye understan’. 
Lord! there warn’t never a sight 
like it — never. Thought fust 
’twas a kinder fool thing the 
mother ’d learned it; but bless yer! 

[ 1 ^ 6 ] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 

I did n’t think so long ; ’t was the 
purties’ sight — 

“ f Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker’s man — ’ ” 

Shawe moved cautiously across 
the room, and paused at the door 
to look back at the old man 
softly clapping his palms together. 
Something in his glance recalled 
Jerome to a sense of his surround- 
ings; he got up in his turn and 
joined his companion. 

“ Ye ’ll keep an eye out fer them 
deers, won’t yer? ” he whispered 
anxiously. “ Christmus Eve they 
all kneel in the woods an’ look up 
to he’vin, ye know. Thet ’s In jin 
talk ’roun’ here from way back; 
some o’ the oldest fellers swear 
their folks seed the thing done. 
Can’t say ’xactly ez I b’lieve it my- 
self, but ’t would be a purty sight 
— an’ anyways, ye jes’ watch out. 

[ 137 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

Wal, luck to ye, lad, luck to 

ye.” 

“ Oh! you ’ll see me again, never 
fear,” Shawe said lightly, to cover 
the other’s concern. “I’m a bad 
penny. So long! ” 

He let himself out into the night, 
closing the door speedily, and with 
as little noise as possible ; but quick 
as he had been, a blast of the nip- 
ping air filled the room. Jerome 
hurriedly drew the blankets closer 
about his little charge ; then he 
stooped to the fire, coaxing it into 
a brighter glow. 

“ Fer a bad penny,” he mum- 
bled, as he went back to his place, 
“ Shawe rings oncommon true. 
There ain’t nary of us ez would 
ha’ thought o’ doin’ what he ’s 
a-doin’ — nary a blessed one of us. 
I swan he ’s dif ’runt somehow — 
[ 1^8 ] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 

kinder apart, but square — square. 
Never kno wed nothin’ ’bout Shawe; 
hed to take him on his face value, 
so to say; he ain’t a gabbler ’bout 
himself, but gen-i-al — gen-i-al 
— an’ oneommon quick-witted inter 
the barg’in. We ’d a- waited till 
Kingdom come afore we ’d thought 
’bout fillin’ them stockin’s ef he 
hed n’t started the game ; an’ ’t was 
him ez heerd her callin’ when the 
rest of us was deef ez postses. 
Hmm! mebbe — ” but praise and 
conjecture alike were silenced as 
the grizzled head dropped forward 
and the old chopper fell into a 
heavy doze. 

Shawe, meanwhile, oblivious to 
both, thrust his hands deep into his 
pockets, and started off on his 
lonely errand. It might prove 
fruitless, but results were not for 
[ 139 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

him to consider; his was to do the 
duty of the moment, and by the 
moment. Nor did it seem to him 
that he was doing anything to be 
especially commended. He had 
been driven out into the night by 
his thoughts of the distress in the 
child’s home, and once they had 
taken possession of him it was im- 
possible to stay warm and com- 
fortable in his bunk. He simply 
had to go — he could not wait. 
Besides, he told himself, it was n’t 
much; he had been out on nights 
to which this, bitter as it was, was 
balmy by comparison. He had 
faced gales, terrible as that chill 
wind which the old Moslem fable 
says will blow over the earth in the 
last days, and yet had come safely 
through. There was no air stir- 
ring at this time; the intense silent 

[ 140 ] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 

cold of the North wrapped every- 
thing close. He was guarded 
against it, however, and while he 
could keep in rapid motion he had 
little to fear from its searching 
tooth. 

He drove his hands deeper into 
his pockets and strode on. The 
way had been broken through some 
weeks earlier and was well defined; 
there was no chance of missing it. 
In the clearing the night was as 
bright as day; under the light of 
the moon the snow lay like an im- 
mense silver shield across which the 
trees threw bars of shadow; but 
as the road wound through the 
woods the brightness retreated in 
great measure, shimmering only 
here and there through the high 
trunks, striking off a gleam from 
this snowy head and that, or shiver- 
[ ] 


SANTA CLAUS* SWEETHEART 

ing down like a lance of steel as 
if to pierce the deeper blackness 
which crouched beyond. 

Shawe knew no fear. He passed 
on silently and as swiftly as pos- 
sible, casting a wary glance around 
occasionally; but he seemed to be 
the only living creature abroad that 
night. The deer, if there were 
any, were not stirring, or his eyes, 
perhaps, were too sceptical to wit- 
ness the simple spectacle of their 
adoration. There was no sign of 
life anywhere. It was almost as 
if it were the end of the world, 
and he the last man — the last of 
creation — left on earth, so wide 
and empty were the spaces about 
him; the great vault overhead, in 
which the moon and stars rode 
calmly, was out of his pygmy reach. 

Presently, as the trees grew 
[ 1^2 ] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 

sparser and the road showed its 
slighter depression through the 
plain of snow lying beyond like 
some frozen sea, he became con- 
scious of life and motion close at 
his side. With the instinct of the 
woodland creatures, he held him- 
self perfectly tense, and waited. 
Then right across his path there 
lumbered a huge, clumsy shape, its 
breath showing like smoke on the 
moonlit air. Suddenly great drops 
of moisture stood out on Shawe’s 
face as if it were mid-summer, and 
his weight of furs had become in- 
tolerable; he had never felt fear 
before, yet now panic gripped him. 
It was not the thought of physical 
hurt that appalled him, but rather 
the sense of the utter futility of his 
endeavor. So the end had come; 
and over there, still very far away, 
[ 143 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

a little child’s mother was sobbing 
— he could almost hear her moans. 

He stirred his hand from his 
pocket to his belt, and grasped the 
butt of his pistol, drawing it forth 
swiftly. It might not be too late! 
His finger was firm as iron as it 
touched the trigger; but the next 
instant the beast slouched noisily 
into the shadows beyond. There 
was no other sound — had been no 
other sound ; the cartridges lay un- 
used in their chambers. Shawe 
lowered his hand. He had not 
been dreaming, he told himself; he 
could swear to that. And the ani- 
mal was no creature of fancy; he 
had seen it quite plainly, had felt 
its breath as it passed, had met the 
dull stare of its eyes. It was 
real, — as real as he was at that 
moment, yet he had not fired 
[ 144 ] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 

because there had seemed no 
need — the beast had simply disre- 
garded him. Then suddenly Shawe 
laughed aloud, not boisterously, 
but very gently, — the way you 
do sometimes when something has 
happened that seems almost too 
good to be true, and the quick tears 
rush into your eyes, — I think, per- 
haps, they were in his also. 

“ It ’s the peace of God,” he said 
softly to himself, “ the peace of 
God — ” 

For on the moment he remem- 
bered the old tradition he had heard 
in many lands, that on the night 
before Christmas, from the day’s 
close to the day’s coming, there is 
no slaughter anywhere among the 
beasts; that the fiercest and most 
savage of them all are as harmless 
as doves to one another, and even 
10 [ 145 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

to their natural enemy — man. 
He put his pistol back into his belt, 
unspeakably glad that no shot of 
his had broken the holy truce. It 
was useless to try to account for 
what had happened. To believe in 
the legend, or to laugh it away and 
attribute the animal’s indifference 
to some natural cause. The whole 
experience — dream, or reality — 
left him throbbing with a sense 
of gratitude that nothing had in- 
terfered with his mission. The 
thought seemed to lend him greater 
activity, as if his moccasined feet 
had suddenly become winged. 
There could be no loitering any- 
where while the mother mourned 
for her little one, her voice cry- 
ing vaguely, vainly, through that 
wonder-space of time when, be- 
cause of another Little Child, 
[ 146 ] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 

God’s peace wrapped the earth 
close. 

There were no landmarks dis- 
cernible. Terry would have recog- 
nized certain ones, as would also 
some of the lumbermen; but to 
Shawe, who was a stranger, the 
whole country was unfamiliar; all 
he could do, therefore, was to 
lessen the distance step by step, 
knowing that while he kept the 
road he could not miss his desti- 
nation. Yet he never lost heart, 
nor was he particularly tired. As 
boy and man, much of his time had 
been spent in the open. He was 
used to hardships, rough weather, 
and great exertion ; the present un- 
dertaking seemed slight compared 
to others he had known. 

Presently the white light of 
early dawn crept faintly up, — 
[ 147 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

little Peep o’ Day he ’s called, — 
a tiny fellow, truly, to be sent out 
to fight the darkness, and yet so 
persistent and undaunted that 
every moment he glowed more 
confidently at his task, and grew 
bigger and bigger with his efforts. 
The moon had looked scornfully 
at the coming of such an adver- 
sary; but now she paled visibly, 
and called in her routed army 
of moonbeams, while below, — the 
sleeping world laughed here and 
there at the contest, stirring out of 
its slumbers. As soon as his duties 
were accomplished, the little cham- 
pion stole away, losing himself in 
the brightness that filled the sky, 
and made it and the land look 
like tinted silver; but nobody 
missed him, for the morning was 
at hand. There was a gorgeous, 
[ 148 ] 


THE PEACE OE GOD 

rosy flush along the east melting 
into purple, out of which the sun 
came up like a wonderful flower, 
opening slowly, first pink, then 
yellow, then red — and it was 
Christmas Day! 

Shawe’s eyes gladdened at the 
sight, though he did not pause; 
he couldn’t — oh! now less than 
ever — now, he must hurry — 
hurry. Back in the shantymen’s 
hut the little child was already 
waking, he knew, and her glee was 
filling the house; but in her home 
others were waking, too, — they 
had not slept, — and listening in 
vain for the music of her laughter. 
He must hurry! So he kept on; 
but somehow, though he was be- 
ginning to be very tired, the going 
was much easier. Joy comes with 
the morning, and new hope ; all the 
[ 149 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

doubts and fears of the night dis- 
appear; they are some of the foes 
little Peep o’ Day vanquishes so 
triumphantly. Shawe could n’t 
feel despondent in that beautiful 
world while the still morning 
brightened around him, especially 
when every step brought him 
nearer his goal. He laughed like 
a boy, and shouted out “ Merry 
Christmas ! ” though there was no 
one by to answer his greeting ; hut 
the clear cold air bore it wide, and 
it helped to swell the chorus going 
up all over the earth. 

He ran a few paces, so wonder- 
fully light-hearted had he grown, 
and flung out his arms, clapping 
them against his body to warm 
himself; then he sobered down — 
outwardly. Nobody would ever 
have supposed that the tall, fur- 
[ 150 ] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 


clad figure with head bent a trifle, 
and only a bit of his face visible 
between his big cap and high collar 
was the bearer of joyful news. 
For one thing, he was walking 
quite stolidly, and your happy mes- 
sengers are always winged ; and 
for another, he was looking neither 
to left nor right. Wasn’t he? — 
Then why did he start suddenly, 
and throw back his head, laughing 
up again at the sky? Why? — Be- 
cause just in front of him there 
was a house, — an ugly, squat 
little house, the glass in its win- 
dows twinkling in the sun. He 
drew nearer, and his heart, that 
had almost instantly rushed into his 
throat, fell back to its proper place 
with a most discouraging thump. 
The house seemed uninhabited, — 
deserted, — as if the people who 
[ 151 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

had lived there had grown tired 
of being so far from the settle- 
ment, and had gone back to be 
with their kind, perhaps to stay 
there always, or at least over this 
day of festivity. It was impos- 
sible to associate a merry Christ- 
mas with this sober, grown-up 
abode. A closer approach, how- 
ever, revealed a small thread of 
smoke issuing from the chimney; 
but otherwise, the general air of 
dreariness about the place — its 
loneliness, its empty, staring win- 
dows — chilled Shawe more than 
the winter night had done. 

He went quickly up to the door, 
over snow that had been tracked 
by the passing of many feet; there 
were footprints everywhere, — 
great marks of a man’s boot, and 
the smaller ones of a woman’s or 
[ 152 ] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 

a girl’s shoe. The sight turned him 
a little giddy. Was this his goal — 
could his happy news be spoken 
here? He tried to shout, but his 
voice seemed frozen in his throat; 
he fell to trembling. He — he 
could not speak. He tried again, 
choking out a faint sound. There 
was no sign from the silent house 
that his call had been heard, — no 
stir, no movement of life. He 
flung himself against the door, and 
battered it with his fists. The 
waiting seemed like eternity to 
him ; then his hand sought the 
knob, turned it, and the door flew 
wide. He stared half dazed into 
the narrow passage-way with the 
stairs climbing at one side; all the 
light seemed out in the world be- 
hind him; the place was dim and 
chill. For a moment he paused, 
[ 153 1 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

then his voice sounded through the 
silence. 

“Halloo! Halloo! Is a little 
child missing here? ” 

There was a quick sound of run- 
ning feet overhead, an opening 
door, and a woman’s scream. 

“ Uncle — Uncle, have you — ” 
The cry went up from below: 

“ Is a little child missing here? ” 
Something darted down the 
stairs ; one would n’t have said it 
was anything human, so swift 
was the motion; yet swifter 
than the flying feet, and very 
piteously human were the words 
that came from the mother’s 
heart : 

“ Is — is — she — dead? ” 

“No, I tell you, no; she ’s alive 
and well. She ’s at Thornby’s log- 
ging-camp — don’t f aint ! She ’s 

[ 154 ] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 


all right; she’s safe, I tell you; 
don’t — ” 

Shawe was only just in time to 
catch the swaying form in his arms, 
and for the moment, as he stood 
there, holding the unconscious 
woman, he was unable to think 
what to do. It did n’t seem pos- 
sible to him that the joy of his mes- 
sage could harm her; perhaps he 
ought to have broken it more 
gently — but how could he? It 
had to be told — No — no — the 
joy couldn’t harm her! A little 
air, a touch of snow on her temples, 
and she would be herself again. 
He lifted his burden and turned to 
the open door. The clear light 
from without came searchingly in 
upon the still face on his breast, 
showing its pinched lines of dis- 
tress and the ravages the tears had 
[ 155 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

made in its fairness; he started at 
the sight, and uttered a sharp 
exclamation. 

The keen air revived her; she 
stirred a trifle with a low moan; 
a minute later her eyelids fluttered, 
and her words came disjointedly in 
little sobbing breaths: 

“Safe, my precious, safe — 
thank God, oh! thank — ” The 
cold whipped a tinge of color into 
her lips ; her eyes opened wide, and 
she stared up into Shawe’s face. 
A look of bewilderment suddenly 
clouded their gaze. 

“ You,” she said softly, “ you — 
Humphrey? ” 

She did not move from his arm; 
but very slowly she lifted her hand 
and touched him wonderingly, her 
fingers lingering over his coat, and 
creeping up and up to his cheek. 

[ 156 ] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 

“ You, Humphrey — ” 

Something like a sob broke from 
him. 

“Elisabeth!” he cried. 

“ I don’t understand,” she said 
weakly. “ It was so very long 
ago — oh ! is it really you ? I — 
I — thought you would never 
come back — so long ago — and 
you were angry — we were both 
angry; but I was the one to 
blame — ” 

“ No, no, no,” he interrupted, 
“mine was the real fault. I 
knew that when it was too late, but 
I couldn’t let you know. Before 
we could make our port the ship 
was wrecked — oh ! it ’s a sad story. 
Most of the crew were lost; but 
the few of us who were saved lived 
somehow on that desolate little 
island waiting — hoping — f ear- 
[ 157 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

ing — through those interminable 
months before the rescue came. 
Then we were carried off to the 
other side of the world, and from 
place to place, — wanderers on the 
face of the globe; but I got home 
at last, and — there was no home 
for me — you had gone away, you 
and Baby. They could n’t tell me 
where, but I searched for you, 
my girl, I searched for you. I 
would n’t give up looking — I 
meant to find you — and it was so 
useless — ” 

She clung closer to him, strok- 
ing his quivering face with gentle 
fingers. 

“ I thought you never meant to 
come back,” she whispered, “ and 
I wanted to beg you to come. I 
wanted to tell you I was really the 
most to blame, but I did n’t know 

[ 158 ] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 

where to send a letter — I had to 
keep still. Oh! I waited so pa- 
tiently, and every day was a year. 
Then when you didn’t come, I 
couldn’t bear the neighbors’ pity; 
it — it hurt ! — so I stole away one 
night with Betty. We went to a 
big city where no one knew us, and 
we were very poor. I did n’t mind 
much for myself, only for Baby. 
It was so hard to find work, I — I 
almost gave up. Then I remem- 
bered Uncle Steven, my mother’s 
half-brother, who used to be with 
us a good deal when I was a child. 
I knew he was all alone out here, 
and I felt he would help Betty and 
me in our troubles. And he was 
so good — he is so good! He 
did n’t even wait to answer my 
letter; he came to find us instead, 
and he brought us back to share 
[ 15 9 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

his home with him. That was three 
years ago — But you, how is it you 
are here? ” 

“ It ’s a long story, Bess, dar- 
ling. I ’ve knocked around every- 
where. I had n’t the heart to settle 
to anything, you know, — hunting, 
trapping, whatever offered. I ’d 
try first one thing and then an- 
other. Something made me come 
over here — I don’t know what it 
was — I simply had to come. I 
was on my way to the Northwest, 
and passed through Wistar three 
weeks ago, never dreaming you 
were so near; then I went on to 
the logging-camp and stopped 
there for a time, but I ’d made all 
my plans to leave to-morrow — ” 
his voice trembled, and he rested 
his face against hers. “Oh!” he 
went on brokenly, “ I might have 
[ 160] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 


missed you altogether; we might 
never have met again — never — 
if it had n’t been for Santa Claus’ 
sweetheart — ” 

She looked up curiously, inter- 
rupting him with a quick exclama- 
tion, and bit by bit the account of 
the little child’s arrival at the lum- 
ber-camp was told. 

“ But did n’t you know right 
away who she was? ” the mother 
asked jealously when he paused. 

“ Dear, I did n’t. She was 
such a baby when I left, — 
scarcely two years old, you re- 
member. There was a likeness, 
though, to you that troubled me, 
but I told myself I was fanci- 
ful. I ’ve seen that likeness so 
many times, — it has been upper- 
most in my mind, going with 
me everywhere, eluding me every- 
11 [ 161 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

where. And, her name was differ- 
ent — Hammond.” 

“ That ’s uncle’s name; he would 
have her called so. Then you came 
all that way not knowing who she 
was, nor for my sake? ” 

“ Yes,” he answered honestly, 
“ I only thought of the sorrow in 
the stricken household. I didn’t 
think of you at all. And yet it 
was for your sake, too. Adi! Bess 
dear, my heart has been very tender 
for all mothers since I left you to 
fend for the little one alone. I 
can never make up for that — ” 
“Hush!” she interposed, “you 
have made up. Even if I ’d been 
somebody else, and Betty some- 
body else, it would have atoned 
and doubly atoned for you to 
do what you have done,” — she 
laughed unsteadily, she was so 
[162] 


THE PEACE OF GOD 

h a ppy that her words had become 
hopelessly tangled. “You know 
what I mean,” she finished. 

“ I know,” he smiled back. 

“But you ought to have recog- 
nized Betty at once; there was no 
excuse.” 

“ I thought she was a dear little 
tot.” 

“ Why, Humphrey, she ’s the 
very dearest, the sweetest, the most 
precious, the — ” 

He stopped the loving catalogue 
with a kiss. 

“You ’ll let me stay and find 
that out for myself, won’t you?” 
he asked humbly. 

She clung to him, trembling all 
over, her face quite drawn and 
white. 

“It won’t take long — oh! you 
must stay longer than that.” 

[ 163 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

“ I ’ll stay till the end, please 
God,” he said very solemnly. 

As they stood together, faintly 
from the distance there came the 
sound of bells; the spirit of the 
blessed season filled the air, — 
the cheer, the peace, the good-will. 
North, south, east, west, along the 
happy roads that lead around the 
world, the message ran. Oh! very 
beautiful are the roads of the 
world, but surely the most beauti- 
ful of them all is little Forgive- 
ness Lane that winds through 
tangles and briers, and over stony 
and waste places, from heart to 
heart and climbs at last up to the 
very gates of heaven. 


[ 164 ] 


CHAPTER VI 


CHRISTMAS DAY 

T HE day was several hours 
older when Humphrey and 
Elisabeth Shawe started 
for Thornby’s camp. Before that 
time, however, poor Uncle Steven, 
weary and disheartened and look- 
ing suddenly like an old, old man, 
had returned from his futile search 
in and around Wistar, accom- 
panied by a number of the inhab- 
itants of the little town who were 
eager to lend what aid they could, 
although they realized how un- 
availing their efforts must prove. 

They had expected to find the 
house wrapped in gloom, but in- 
[ 165 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

stead, as they stopped at its door, 
a young woman with a radiantly 
happy face ran toward them cry- 
ing out the joyful news. Then a 
mighty shout went up from the 
sleighs, — no one knew who started 
it, but it grew and grew, until it 
seemed to reach the sky, and when 
it died away — it was a long while 
before that happened, because it 
was always breaking out again — 
there was a great blowing of noses 
and clearing of throats, as if an 
epidemic of influenza was raging 
among them all. As soon as quiet 
was restored every one went within- 
doors to find Shawe, who was rest- 
ing under the strictest orders not 
to move, and who was allowed to 
remain quiet no longer. There 
would be ample time on another 
day to get over his fatigue; for 
[ 166] 


CHRISTMAS DAY 

the present he had to submit to 
being made much of. Such a 
shaking of hands as took place 
then, — Uncle Steven started it, — 
and such hearty wishes as were 
poured forth! It wasn’t Merry 
Christmas just once, but it was 
Merry, merry Christmas over and 
over again, until the house rocked 
with the noise. And there were no 
reproaches in word, or thought, 
about that sad past, with its mis- 
takes and misunderstandings, it 
was all blotted out, — just as the 
snow stretched its sparkling white- 
ness over the earth, hiding many 
an ugly spot, so the beautiful 
mantle of charity lay close over 
what had been. 

Finally, at Shawe’s insistence, 
the sleigh was made ready. Not 
Uncle Steven’s shabby cutter, but 
[ 167 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

the roomier one of the most im- 
portant citizen of Wistar, who had 
been among the first to offer his 
services to find the little child. It 
was heaped high with robes from 
the other sleighs, until its gor- 
geousness and comfort were some- 
thing to wonder at, and four 
horses were harnessed to it; then 
the best driver climbed up in front 
with much pride and, as soon as 
the husband and wife had taken 
their places behind him, he cracked 
his whip briskly, in a hurry to be 
gone. Again the air was rent with 
cheers, and amid the tumult the 
horses sprang forward. Ah! they 
were very different from sober old 
Danny and Whitefoot; they fairly 
flew over the road that had seen the 
jolly progress of Santa Claus and 
his little sweetheart the previous 
[ 168 ] 


CHRISTMAS DAY 

day, and that solemn faring south- 
ward through the night of the 
messenger bearing his good tid- 
ings. The bells rang out merrily, 
— the gayest, gladdest tune, — 
and the spirits of the sky, the 
plains, the woods, laughed back 
in an ecstasy of delight, echoing 
the happiness everywhere; as far 
as eye could reach the snow 
twinkled and shone as if with 
rapture that Christmas Day. There 
was hardly any speech among the 
travellers, but joy sat very close 
to their hearts, and no one objected 
to the silence. 

At last the logging-camp was 
reached, and, as the horses drew 
up with a great shaking of their 
bells, the door of the shanty flew 
open, and a body of men trooped 
out to greet the newcomers. They 
[ 169 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

had all heard of Shawe’s errand 
from old Jerome, — all but the 
child, who was kept in ignorance, 
because no one knew what its re- 
sult would be, — and at sight of 
their former comrade a shout of 
welcome — and something more — 
something deeper — burst from 
them, to be echoed again and 
again. Under cover of the happy 
sounds Shawe, too moved for any 
words, jumped from the sleigh and 
turned to help his wife; but she 
scarcely touched his hand, spring- 
ing past him as if she were winged. 
Only too well the men knew who 
the shining-eyed woman was, yet 
they had no greeting for her, — 
the exultation in her face silenced 
them all ; they opened a way speed- 
ily for her to pass through, and 
then turned by common accord to 
[ 170 ] 


CHRISTMAS DAY 

look at the sight that would meet 
her. As if they could see with her 
eyes! And yet the picture was an 
unforgettable one to them. 

They saw the rude familiar 
room, beautiful as it had never 
been until the previous night, with 
the huge fire blazing at one side, 
and on the hearth old Jerome bend- 
ing down to the child, who, at the 
clatter without, had risen from her 
play, the skirt of her gown gath- 
ered up over a store of her new 
treasures as she turned wonder- 
ingly toward the door. The men, 
still looking, saw the little hand 
relax its hold hastily, so that 
the precious hoard fell to the 
floor unheeded — forgotten. The 
small face changed from bright 
to brighter, — to brightest, — they 
had not believed that possible, — 
[ 171 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

and then they saw nothing but two 
figures running toward each other 
and meeting in a close embrace, 
and they heard the cries uttered 
in shaking voices, “ Muvver — ” 
“Dear, my little own!” mingle 
and lose themselves in breaking 
sobs and a low peal of rippling 
laughter. 

“ I swan thet hick’ry makes the 
’tarnallest smoke,” Jerome mut- 
tered a moment later, “it do beat 
all ” — he stopped, choking over 
the words, — “ it do beat all,” he 
said again, blinking around with 
misty eyes. 

Some one laughed unsteadily, 
and some one else coughed, then 
a third person sneezed — and so 
the charm was broken. The mother 
raised her head and gazed over the 
little shoulder at the other occu- 
[ 172 ] 


CHRISTMAS DAY 

pants of the room with a look of 
deepest gratitude. How good 
every one was! Her thought was 
plainer to them all than the most 
eloquent words would have been. 
Indeed, words were not necessary 
at all. Betty, in the silence, turned, 
and still resting in the encircling 
arm, smiled right and left on her 
many friends, then her eyes came 
back to the face she loved so well, 
and she patted it with fond fingers. 

“ It ’s the very happiest Christ- 
mas now,” she laughed, “ ’thout 
you ’t was n’t half so nice. Did 
dear Santa Claus bring you, too ? ” 
“ You can never guess,” Elisa- 
beth Shawe answered, the delight 
in her voice vibrating like a bell. 
“ It was some one far better and 
kinder than Santa Claus, though 
you and I, darling, have much to 
[ 173 ] 


Santa claus’ sweetheart 

thank that old man for, and we ’ll 
bless him all our days. Listen, 
sweet.” 

For a moment the woman bent 
close to whisper in the rosy ear, 
then, as if she realized that the men 
who had been so tender to her 
child had earned a right to share 
in the new-found happiness, she 
told the story aloud. She spoke 
very simply so the little hearer 
might understand, — indeed, it was 
meant chief est for her, — but the 
others crowding near were not 
denied a glimpse of the great joy 
the morning had brought into 
three lives. 

“ Not daddy,” Betty screamed, 
as the full truth dawned upon her, 
“not my very own, own daddy!” 

She didn’t wait for an answer 
but ran swiftly to Shawe, who was 
[ 174 ] 


CHRISTMAS DAY 

standing just behind, and threw 
herself into his arms. 

“ Oh! you won’t be a far-away 
daddy ever any more, will you? ” 
she cried. 

“ Never any more,” he answered 
brokenly, then he gathered her 
close to his breast and kissed her. 

The men looked on shy-eyed 
and silent in the presence of that 
boundless content. Who could 
say anything? Who could speak? 
Betty’s laughter, as her father re- 
leased his hold and she slipped to 
the floor, acted like magic upon 
them all; in a moment a deafen- 
ing hubbub filled the room. After 
it had subsided a little the Kid, 
who had served as master of cere- 
monies on several occasions, as- 
sumed the leadership; though he 
was the youngest of them, he knew 
[ 175 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

how things were managed out in 
the great world. Therefore he 
escorted Mrs. Shawe to the seat 
of honor with his very best com- 
pany manner, — and there never 
was a manner like it anywhere, so 
his comrades heartily declared, and 
I ’m quite sure they were right! 

The great barrel-chair which Je- 
rome usually occupied was drawn 
up to the centre of the hearth, and 
as soon as her mother was seated 
Betty brought all her new treas- 
ures and displayed them with great 
pride, while the men nudged one 
another slyly as the former owners 
were recognized; no matter how 
hard they tried to appear uncon- 
scious, a quirk of pleasure, or a 
I-mustn’t-appear-as-if-1-had.-ever- 
seen-that-before look was a sure 
indication when all other signs 
[ 176 ] 


CHRISTMAS DAY 

failed. And Betty always found 
them out, shouting gleefully at 
each discovery, while her mother 
smiled in gratitude, no less pleased 
than the little one. Well, why 
should n’t they be glad, too, to 
give all that pleasure? Some- 
how there was such a cosey, com- 
fortable feeling about it they 
felt good all over, and they 
could n’t keep quiet, — that was 
too much to expect! So the old 
room rang again and again with 
their mirth. 

“ Sing to us now, dear, my little 
own,” Elisabeth Sh&we said, when 
the gifts had been duly admired, 
“ sing the old song about this 
blessed day.” 

Betty leaned against her mother’s 
shoulder within the happy circle of 
her arm. 

19 


[ 177 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

“ You too,” she whispered, “ just 
like we always do? ” 

“ Yes, darling, in our own way.” 
The child’s glance went round 
the room, taking in the joyful 
faces that smiled back at her in 
friendly fashion; then she met her 
father’s eyes, and, reaching out, 
she took his hand in hers, drawing 
it close, until it rested on that other 
hand above her heart. A moment 
later she began to sing in her sweet 
little thread of a voice: 

“ ‘ I saw three ships come sailing in, 

On Christmas Day — on Christmas Day, 
I saw three ships come sailing in. 

On Christmas Day in the morning.’ ” 

Elisabeth Shawe took up the 
next verse: 

“ ‘ Oh ! they sailed into Bethlehem, 

On Christmas Day — on Christmas Day, 
Oh ! they sailed into Bethlehem, 

On Christmas Day in the morning.’ ” 

[ 178 1 


CHRISTMAS DAY 


It was Betty’s turn: 

“ ‘ And all the bells on earth shall ring 

On Christmas Day — on Christmas Day, 
And all the bells on earth shall ring 
On Christmas Day in the morning.’ ” 

Again there came the fuller, richer 
tones of the sweet antiphony: 

“ ‘ And all the angels in heaven shall sing. 
On Christmas Day — on Christmas 
Day,’ ” 

The voices of mother and child 
blended in unison, filling the room 
with happy, rippling music: 

“ { And all the angels in heaven shall sing 
On Christmas Day in the morning.’ ” 

At a signal from Shawe the men 
joined in the next verse, waiting 
for the first line to be given, and 
then going on with the simple itera- 
tion, until the little carol became a 
mighty triumphal chorus: 

[ 179 ] 


SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART 

“ ‘ And all the souls on earth shall sing 

On Christmas Day — on Christmas Day, 
And all the souls on earth shall sing 
On Christmas Day in the morning.’” 

“ Dang thet hick’ry,” old Jerome 
grumbled in the hush that fol- 
lowed, “it do set a man splutterin’ 
ez never was ! ” 


THE END 

















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AUG 24 1906 


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